


In A State of Perpetual Disrepair

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Series: The Disrepair 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, But no one cares really, Comfort, Cramps, Difficult heat, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mal wrote a thing, Mpreg mentioned near the very end, Omega Dean, Omega Dean Winchester, POV Alternating, Past Abuse, Recovery, Sex Work, Sex Worker Castiel (Supernatural), Slow Burn, Smut, age gap, idiots to lovers, mainly Dean's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 64,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: Dean's heat hits early. Way early. A nuisance at the best of times (and he hasn't had 'the best of times' in years), it's worse when his usual Betas are unavailable. So he calls the company, hoping they have a solution. You'd think with sex off the table, it would be easier.Jody only has an Alpha on offer. Granted, an older, "hella handsome" as per Jody's words, more experienced Alpha, but Dean can count his good brushes with the likes of them on less than one hand.He concedes, awaiting the arrival of a certain Castiel with no small amount of dread.He needn’t have worried, though it takes him a good while to figure that out.Completed after weekly (biweekly) updates that did not take us into 2021 because impatient moi.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester (background), Jess/Sam (brief background), Jess/Sam Winchester (mentioned), Jody/Donna (background)
Series: The Disrepair 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853482
Comments: 841
Kudos: 717
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. “I hear you’re going through a rough heat?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the background story for [An Element of Blank](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23913517), which explores how Cas and Dean met and got to that point. I'm starting to see a pattern in my tags. *rolls mild eyes at self* So be it.
> 
> Weekly updates on Tuesday until finished! Currently written up to chapter 24 and outlined until chapter 31, just FYI, but I think most of you know I finish my stuff. In my calendar, this brings us all the way into 2021!
> 
> PLEASE note the slow burn tag. In case the 31 chapters didn't give it away. ^^
> 
> For those who were there during the Apocalypse, a wee update:  
> 1\. Job lost!  
> 2\. Surgery at the end of August with a 6 to 8 week recovery period. Which, see no. 1, means I'm in limbo for a while. Lucky for the writing?  
> 3\. Still think chocolate is a fruit.  
> 4\. Reading Philip Purser-Hallard's trilogy, starting with 'The Pendragon Protocol'. Arthurian legend mixed with Robin Hood. Happy about that.  
> 5\. Doing research into European mythology for original work. If anyone has suggestions for creatures, books or sources, feel free to poke me (here or on [Tumblr](https://maleyah-givemetomorrow.tumblr.com/)).
> 
> Beta-read by the ever-patient, wonderful [Kindathewholepoint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindathewholepoint/profile). Thank you, as ever and always, dear one! Any remaining mistakes are down to my endless tweaking and are thus my own.
> 
> I sincerely hope all of y'all are doing well, while we're past the halfway point of no return in this strange, intense year. Have some comfort food, I mean, reading, should you need it, and keep navigating these waters.
> 
> Come join fellow SPN/Destiel weirdo aficionados on [the Profound Bond Discord server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)! Demons of a feather flock together <3
> 
> Love and hugs,  
> Mal

Castiel closes the door to the meeting room behind him, pleased with and reassured about the numbers. Balthazar looks smug when they shake hands.

“I hope you’ll trust me next time I make a suggestion, Mr. Novak.”

His last name sounds foreign and all too tongue-in-cheek from his friend-slash-bookkeeper’s mouth. It isn’t necessary. Castiel is hardly one for formality. Bal is just being his dickish self, because he proved a point that wasn’t even truly a point to begin with.

“Yes, Bal,” he says. “Your gamble paid off. That doesn’t mean I won’t critically assess any and all wild plans you or I or anyone else come up with when it affects this company.”

His main concern was, in fact, the fate of the second venue. He was sure he’d crunched the numbers right the first time around, during the preparation phase, but it’s always lovely to see his own assessment confirmed by a professional, even a smug one.

“Wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” Balthazar smiles. “Though I do believe your wild plan-days are well behind you.”

He gives a noncommittal shrug under Balthazar’s twinkling gaze.

“See you next month?” Bal asks.

“Unless some calamity befalls us.”

Which isn’t likely.  _ Brush _ is doing well.

“God forbid. I do expect a dinner date at some point in the near future. I only get to see you for work lately.”

“I’ll do my best.”

It is a version of the truth. All for a good reason, Castiel muses, while he watches Bal swagger his way outside, exchanging winks and waves with his personnel like he’s some sort of celebrity. Seeing as he’s a former employee, in a way to some of them, he is. 

Looking around, Castiel takes in his surroundings. Modest. Clean. Lots of light. A good five people are working the phones, four of them engaged, which means it’s a busy day. He perks his ears when he catches the concerned tone in Jody’s voice.

His business partner, who insists on doing shifts on the phone. Can’t claim to be an equity service and not show up, which is something that’s been eating at Castiel. Ever since he stopped going out ‘in the field’, because he was too busy running the company, it hasn’t felt the same. The screening. The interviews. The marketing. The shareholding, even, thank you very much, Bal. Cleaners, tech crew, customer service. The list of hats he wears is endless.

That and… Age awareness. It’s a funny thing. He is getting on. When the grey hairs started dominating the darker ones, he figured it was time to stop spreading himself too thin and ensure the business was safeguarded. Let the younger generation provide the actual service. All for a good reason. It’s still jarring to be more of a business man than anything else. Castiel doesn’t identify as one. A hollow title.

Though that could be down to something else entirely.

Perhaps any and all of that is what has him leaning a hand on the back of Jody’s chair. She smiles, flicking her eyes up at him, perhaps a touch of confusion to her expression, but it’s short-lived. Her focus, like his, lies with their clients, though her sense of work-life balance is far healthier than his own.

“Dean, let me double-check if we have any of our atypical Alphas available, but I’m not making any promises. Alright? Hang in there, sweetie.”

The nickname has his nose twitching in curiosity. Jody is kind, but not prone to them by default. She puts ‘Dean’ on hold. Glancing up at him, scrutiny is apparent in every line of her face.

“What are you thinking?”

“What? No…”

“I can see you thinking, Castiel. Don’t make me keep this guy on hold. He’s in pain.”

Something intense yanks at him, like someone shoved a meat hook under his sternum. Not that he’s ever had that explicit experience. A knife between the ribs, sure, not meat hooks. This line of work wasn’t always so organized. Still isn’t for some.

“What’s going on?”

“Dean’s an Omega, who’s been with us for two years, because of his bad heats. Initially went with Alphas, but resorted to Betas, thanks to yours truly. Cramps, debilitating pain, the works. Even with our screening process, the Alphas we sent in seemed to get…” She works her tongue in her mouth, scrunching up her nose. “Ehm, unusually invested?”

Castiel cocks an eyebrow at that.

“Hardly the point right now,” Jody says. “Since then it’s only been Betas and he seems to prefer it that way, but we have no one. No Betas, no atypical Alphas. His heat hit early and he needs care more than sex, which you know as well as I do...”

“… isn’t easy to provide.”

Their society being what it is, that concept still isn’t as widespread as it should be. A deep-seated frustration fights its way to the fore, blending with his inherent concern and several months worth of antsiness.

“Offer me up,” he says, keeping his voice and expression level.

“You? But it’s been years...”

He shoots Jody a dry look. “I’m aware.”

Smiling crookedly, her nose scrunches up and she winks. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He stares at the phone intensely, fingers drumming on the back of Jody’s chair. “Make the suggestion, at least. See how he responds.”

She purses her lips. “Not to be crass, but when were you last tested?”

He wordlessly pulls up the email from a month ago.

“I had no idea you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not. Force of habit,” he says. “And I do need to get through my ruts, so it technically hasn’t been years.” No, his retort isn’t generously salted. “Now… Shall we? Explain to him you have me.”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“Whatever you feel you need to. Just pretend I’m back in the database.”

“You still are,” she says.

With a few clicks, she calls him up from the ‘retired’ ranks. The face staring back at him is glaringly confrontational in its cocky youthfulness, his hair still fully dark rather than the silver fox vibe he’s got going these days. Less lines. And let’s not even talk about the hopeful, bohemian glint in those eyes.

“Dean?”

Castiel tries not to eavesdrop, but for some reason it’s difficult. He hums to himself to drown it out, Jody shooting him an odd glance, while she converses with the Omega on the other end.

“I’ve got one Alpha available,” she says. “He’s… one of our most experienced, regular members, incredibly empathic and warmhearted. Hella handsome as well, if I do say so myself.”

The mirth in her voice translates sweetly to either side of the line, because Dean chuckles, while Castiel rolls his eyes at her fondly. Dean’s voice comes through a bit warbled and he can’t make out the words, but her answer gives away the intent behind them.

She laughs softly. “I do mean a bit older than you, yes, but he’s within the age bracket you entered in your profile.”

Nervous butterflies burst free around his heart. There’s more talking on Dean’s end, which has Jody’s face contorting in empathy.

“Yes, he has. No issues whatsoever in twenty years. If you’d like to talk to him first, he just walked into the office. His name is Castiel.”

The blood drains from his face and he gestures wildly at Jody in something akin to ‘what the fuck?!’, then promptly freezes when he catches Dean’s  _ ‘Cas-tea-what? Yes, please’  _ floating when she puts the phone down, and suddenly they’re on speaker. Always quick on his feet, Castiel clears his throat, leaning closer to the phone, even though he doesn’t have to.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Sonova…” Dean seems to choke on something, before he finds his voice. Maybe it was a spasm of pain. “Heya, Cas. You mind if I call you Cas?”

Forget love at first scent. This is love at first sound.

The smile that forms at the request is one of those stupid ones. He doesn’t even need a mirror for that and his tone oozes like honey, before he can help himself. “Not at all.”

Jody’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I hear you’re going through a rough heat?”

“You can say that again,” Dean huffs. “Not my first, certainly not my last, but…” The sound of his voice grows tighter, as if he’s biting away the pain, until a barely there whimper comes through. “I could use some help. But my experience… Please…”

Castiel’s Alpha instincts kick in at the destitute sound in ways they haven’t in years, potentially forever. There’s a twinge of panic bleeding through Dean’s timbre. “Dean, breathe deep a few times for me.”

Jody picks up the handset and pushes it into his hand. Automatically Castiel presses the receiver to his ear and all of a sudden Dean’s voice is in his head, when she takes him off speaker.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, I… Oh, fuck, this smarts.” Dean pants heavily. “I don’t get how I seem to forget this by the time the next one hits.”

He sobs softly and Castiel’s heart is almost wrenched out of his rib cage. Leaning over Jody’s desk, he scans Dean’s file, committing the specifications to memory so easily, he may as well have been doing this yesterday.

“It’s because our minds are designed to help us survive better. Breathe for me, Dean.”

“Huh?” He hears the harsh, shaky inhales and the even shakier, slow-ish exhales. Dean is trying to acquiesce to Castiel’s request.

“We have to forget intense pain to keep going. To help keep us in the present or we’d be continuously afraid or hung up, potentially doing dumb shit. Or missing out.”

Dean chuckles through a pained sound. “Awesome. Okay, you can come over.”

“Pardon?”

“We’re good. Please come over. I need…”

“We are? I mean, yes. Yes. I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.”

He almost offers to call Dean from his cell, so he can keep him occupied on the way, which is such a far cry from protocol, he barely manages to swallow it down. Barely.

“Thanks, man.”

Jody eyes him up and down, after they hang up. “You, umm… You look a little excited.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps quiet, while he grabs his trench off the coat rack. Adjusting his tie, he double-checks he has his belongings: phone, wallet and keys.

“Castiel?”

His gaze snaps to Jody. “I may be a touch nervous,” he admits. “Not sure why.”

“Maybe because it’s been a while after all?”

Squinting at her, he notices the smirk forming, and huffs softly. “I have to go pick up some of my stuff.”

“Best hurry. Do take care of him. He deserves it.”

Like he needed that little bit of intel to lure his Alpha into maybe speeding.


	2. “Yeah. I’m in pain, not deaf. Did you just pick my fucking lock?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel’s other hand lands on his trembling thigh and he sees the concern in those eyes deepen to heartfelt worry on Dean’s behalf. Alphas. They get so caught up. It would be endearing, if the aftermath didn’t usually turn ugly. 
> 
> “May I pick you up?”
> 
> “What?”

After hanging up, it takes Dean a good five minutes of heavy breathing through the pain, before his heat gives him a small break. Labor can’t have much on this, he thinks. Ignoring the slick that’s leaking out of him, he seizes the debatable lull in his cramps as an opportunity to make himself some calming tea and a light dinner. He’d like coffee and pie, but this late in the day during his heat, that’s a horrendous idea. 

Of all the things to learn from Sam, distinguishing between good and bad foods with regards to his pain levels may have been the most crucial one. Luckily, not all tasty food is off the table all the time. The thought of Sam makes him realize he needs to inform his brother of the situation.

His phone dings, before he has a chance to put it back down.

It’s true, because his baby brother is a friggin’ giant. At the same time, it’s not like Dean isn’t capable of holding his own. Provided he’s not in crippling pain. The contrast between his heats and his ‘real life’ is stark.

Damn, he misses Sam. But the kid got a scholarship after getting his bachelor’s degree and it’d be insane to let the chance slide. He keeps muttering ‘fuck’ under his breath, while he handles the veggies, not really paying attention to how he’s cutting them. An omelet has to be feasible, right?

“Fuck… A fuckin’ Alpha,” he hisses, when he almost slices his finger.

The road he’s taken to get to today actually removed Alphas from the equation. Fully. Barring Sam and his mom, and y’know, whoever crosses his path in daily life. But on a personal level, nope. 

Turned inside out by medical experts, who assured him that statistically speaking, his unusual heats still fell within the known parameters, he thinks it’s medical slang for ‘tough shit, here’s some painkillers, now shove off’.

His track record with Alphas, be it partners or service workers, has been anything but spotless. The memories send a shiver down his spine, but at least with service companies, he calls the shots to safeguard himself as best he can. In a society where everyone thinks Omegacare equals sex, it’s hard to explain he needs everything but that. (Mostly.)

It took him way too long to find _Brush_ and even then, he almost bailed on them when their first two Alphas got obsessive. If it wasn’t for Jody, he’d probably have given up entirely. Maybe have his uterus removed or something like that. Burn away his mating gland and pretend he’s a Beta. But he’s only twenty-five and every gyno he’s seen refused that invasive procedure, spouting some nonsense about Dean just needing to meet the right Alpha and having a litter.

Bullshit.

So saying that he’s nervous about this new guy, who is in fact an Alpha, would be the understatement of the decade.

Castiel.

Dean groans and leans on the kitchen counter for support, almost knocking his mug over, when a fresh wave of cramps hits. Like someone’s got a death grip on his uterus and is wringing it out like a rag over and over and over, letting up just enough for the next wave to hit harder. The feeling radiates hotly to his lower back, like the whole area is inflamed. And hell, for as long as he’s been suffering this, it might as well be.

The new symptom of the last two months kicks in abruptly. His legs tremble violently, knees turning to jelly. Black spots dance in front of his eyes. He takes two steps towards his living room and the cushioning safety of his couch, but never makes it. Instead, he crumples to the floor, fully cognizant and cursing angrily. His wrists hurt from the impact.

Castiel is going to be here soon. He needs to open the damn door and let him in.

“Come on, Winchester,” he grumbles. “It ain’t that fucking far.”

It really isn’t. His apartment is a small rental, because he can’t hold down a fulltime job. Or any job, for any length of time, truth be told, once his condition makes itself known. Currently he’s working as a freelance tutor, translator and paper grader, which barely gets him through every month. Dismissing the bog that is his employment situation he groans and tries to arm-crawl his way out of the kitchen, shaking like mad. Fuck, he needs to get to bed and take enough painkillers to knock him out.

There’s the knock at the door. He wants to call out, but his voice breaks on the first try, and he exhales on a wheezy snivel.

“Dean?”

Oh, shit, even with a door separating them, that voice carries sufficient promise of _something_ to force a whined response from him. He scrunches his eyes shut, forehead pressed to the floor. There’s an answering rumble in the hallway which pulls at him.

“Dean!”

“I fell,” he grits out. “My legs… I’m sorry…”

He catches the heartfelt curse on the other side, which skyrockets his guilt. “Just… Stay put, I’ll be right with you.”

“Not going anywhere, trust me.”

Dean has enough presence of mind to wonder just how the fuck this guy’s going to do that. He’s stubborn though, so he keeps crawling, but he may as well have two eye tentacles and a shell for all his supernatural speed. Dimly he’s aware of small ticking sounds, the scrape of metal on metal, and he gapes when his front door swings open.

From his vantage point, the Alpha is massive and a flurry of movement that closes in on him so fast, he barely has time to take him in beyond the billowing trench coat and a fancy, dark suit. Red tie? The eyeful he gets up close and personal has his head swimming. A mop of messy dark hair, greying at the temples. Similar scruff. A pair of beautifully shaped lips, set in a tight line, before they part to speak his name. Dark eyebrows knit together in a squint. 

The eyes anchor him, as soon as their gaze catches.

A deep blue sea of too much empathy, which swamps his vision, while strong hands help him sit up. Two hellishly warm fingers search out his pulse in his neck, which is unexpectedly intimate. The sharp exhale that begets is short-lived, because the touch is gone the second he wants to lean into it.

Instinctually, he tries to sniff Cas out, to gauge what type of man he’s dealing with, only to find a chemical blockade in his path.

“Can you hear me?”

He grumbles, both at the question and the fact that he can’t _smell_ this guy.

“Yeah. I’m in pain, not deaf. Did you just pick my fucking lock?”

For a moment, Castiel looks sheepishly taken aback and sure, Winchester, run your big mouth to the new Alpha. The Betas he dealt with lately were regular people, prone to a healthy sense of humor much the same way Dean is. Most Alphas? Not necessarily so.

He blinks a few times, when Castiel’s mouth quirks up at the corner. “I did. Seemed like a better option than kicking down your door, wouldn’t you agree?”

A warm hand lands on his lower back and he groans in relief, because… “Holy shit, that feels good.”

Dean grabs a handful of his shirt, the tie caught in the line of fire. Cas’ eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“Your… hand. The warmth. Are you always this warm?”

Nodding, those ocean blues drop to Dean’s stomach, then to his legs. “You said something about your legs?”

“Sometimes the pain gets bad enough, they can’t hold me.”

Castiel’s other hand lands on his trembling thigh and he sees the concern in those eyes deepen to heartfelt worry on Dean’s behalf. Alphas. They get so caught up. It would be endearing, if the aftermath didn’t usually turn ugly. 

“May I pick you up?”

“What?”

“I’d like to carry you to…” He stops talking, clever eyes skimming from the half-prepared meal in the kitchen to the couch and down the hallway. “Your couch or your bed, wherever you would like to have your dinner.”

Dean’s not sure how to respond, tongue-tied at the ease with which Cas… _Castiel_ , he reminds himself, takes control. His Omega instincts beg him to give in, while his experiences want him to push back.

“Couch,” he mutters, going for that reluctant middle ground.

“Okay.”

Suddenly Castiel lifts him up in his arms, fucking bridal style, like he doesn’t weigh 183 pounds. The movement has his stomach flip-flopping. He carries Dean to the couch, laying him down. There’s a quick touch in the back of his neck, strong fingers tracing his spine, to calm him.

“You’re wearing blockers,” Dean says.

He doesn’t mean it to sound accusatory, but it comes out as such nonetheless. And maybe a touch sulky.

“I was in a meeting before I came here,” Castiel says, giving him an indulgent smile. It makes his eyes crinkle.

That explains the suit, Dean thinks. But not the damn lockpick. But wait, wasn’t he supposed to be a regular?

Castiel fluffs up a pillow, easing it behind him and plucks one of Dean’s heavier blankets off of the arm chair’s back. Draping it over him, Dean glances up through his lashes, at once horrendously curious and reticent. He scents the air again, to no avail.

“I read your file, so I’m aware of your needs,” Castiel says, while he tucks the blanket around him, all the way to his feet. “Is there anything you need right now? A hot water bottle or a painkiller?”

His lips are moving, but no sound comes out, because fuck, he forgot what it was like to have an Alpha in his vicinity. Some of the ones he’s known went through this. A diabetes-inducingly sweet, caring phase and every time, he loved it. But there’s a bitter aftertaste, knowing it never lasts that has him holding back. Then he reminds himself this one is here because he gets paid. Castiel scrunches up his face, because contrary to him, Dean isn’t wearing blockers, so who knows how rude he must smell. 

“Dean?”

Fuck, he’s hella distracted, because there’s an unfamiliar, smokin’ hot Alpha in his personal space and he’s worried he made a serious error in judgement. His reply comes out hoarse. “Both, please.”

Nodding, Castiel works his shoulders, peeling off his trench, a gesture Dean tracks with narrowed eyes, even through his pain. He locates the coat rack next to the door, hanging it beside the worn leather jacket. 

“Can you talk me through the set-up of your meds and tools, Dean?”

A hiccup of surprise worms its way out of Dean. Castiel smiles reassuringly over his shoulder. Dean subtly sniffs the air in the space he vacated, but there’s nothing. A whiff of chemical blocker, that makes his nose itch. Dean’s not sure if he’s looking for the man’s scent to ease his concerns or because he’s hella curious how this particular Alpha specimen actually smells.

“Meds are in the bathroom, which is the first door on the left down the hallway. Bedroom’s furthest. My…”

The pain flares up, pushing a deep groan out of him and it’s like a gunshot went off at the races, the way that sends Castiel running. He’d laugh, if he wasn’t so miserable. Closing his eyes, he suppresses another moan and instead focuses on the sound of Castiel, rummaging through his medicine cabinet. Unlike everything else in his house, it is organized, so he returns soon enough. Whimpering, Dean pulls the blanket over his face, because the light overhead is glaring, pulsing to the rhythm of his pounding heartbeat against his closed eyelids. He doesn’t usually smell himself, but he’s acutely aware that he’s stinking up the place with rank pain sweat. He can only imagine how horrific that must be for a sensitive Alpha’s nose.

They’ll need to get used to each other’s scents. A stray thought between two angry flares of pain and he’s squirming under the blanket, distantly aware of Castiel running water in his kitchen. For some reason, there is a hint of a smile in his voice, when he’s suddenly close by.

“Tylenol or aspirin?”

“Both,” Dean says, while he throws the blanket off, bunching it up around his abdomen. “God, both, all of it.”

Castiel lets rip an inelegant snort, squinting at him, while he pops an aspirin in the water. He hands over the glass, the little white disk bouncing around while it’s slowly dying, and the Tylenol. “Not happening, but one of each works. I’ll keep track of the timing.”

“Fine,” he grumbles.

His leg bounces in sync with the effervescent, while he waits for it to dissolve. Instinctively Castiel reaches out to put his hand on his thigh, an impossible warmth seeping through near-instantly. For a moment, Dean jumps and his scent goes sour with fear, because hasn’t this guy heard of personal space? His eyes fall to the point of contact unsurely. Castiel removes his hand, his face a mask of collected tranquility. The thought that he may be picking up on Dean so easily is making his head spin. Betas don’t do that. He had to use words there. Maybe here too, though part of him would prefer not to... 

Dean wiggles his toes, some part of him stubborn in its intent to mutely express the chaos in his head. Bright blue eyes coast over the gesture, another ripple of empathy traveling his face, before the Alpha visibly forces himself to focus.

“You were going to say something else before I went to get the meds.”

“I was?” He drinks part of the water, making a face and sticking out his tongue like the child he sometimes is. The prickly feel on his tongue is unpleasant. “Oh, right, the hot water bottle is in the bed. And I was trying to prepare dinner.”

“I saw,” Castiel nods. “Are you okay while I handle both of those for you?”

Dean’s distracted as fuck by too many things at once. He needs to let the guy take over, so he can curl up and pretend he isn’t in his body. Sleep. Everlasting sleep. “I’ll be okay,” he mumbles. “Just gotta get through… through another one. I got this.”

Eyebrows moving with an impressive kindness, Castiel nods at him. “Alright. So do I.”

The slow effect of the painkiller reduces the intensity of the ache to something dull. For the time being. Dean gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile and the tightness in Castiel’s face eases up a bit in turn, before he gets to work. He wants to observe him, see what he can read from the way he moves through his space, but his eyes go heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote that gave the mini-verse its name. Dean's. Who else?
> 
> It's heating up here. I remember using the term swamp nuts somewhere in one of my stories. So I'm starfishing in front of my fan a lot.
> 
> Also I found an app ^^
> 
> HUGS to you. Or not. Cause sticky.  
> But love, all the same,  
> Mal


	3. “Way to quote from the pamphlet, buddy.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cas, no, I’m disgusting, don’t tou…” 
> 
> “Dean, enough. Let me help.” 
> 
> The Alpha order lands, but on top of everything screaming and writhing in his body, it hurts like hell. In the bathroom, Cas settles him down on his knees at the edge of the tub. He mewls again, reaching for the toilet, because who the hell pukes in a tub?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : throwing up.
> 
> But immediately taken care of, alright? He's in good hands.
> 
> There's a mini heatwave hitting. Someone save me. Well, we're not allowed to hug people anyway *pouts*  
> Hope you're all okay.  
> Love,  
> Mal

Dean knows he conked out, as soon as that strange moment hits where he is pried out of a few layers of groggy sleep all too rapidly. His head throbs with the effort. A warm hand on his arm. Another much less pleasant warmth at his lower back and the scent of food in his nose. Nothing beyond it, except...

Stranger? 

His brain kicks into defensive mode and he jolts upright, fists up, promptly stuck in the blanket. Pain shoots through him at the sudden movement and he almost knocks the plate off the coffee table, remembering there is an Alpha in his apartment, who cooked him dinner. Castiel’s reflexes are not half bad, when he saves said plate from certain doom and prevents Dean from falling off the couch at the same time, grabbing onto his shoulder.

“You’re alright, Dean.”

It’s matter-of-fact and calm. Dean blinks hard, the light unpleasantly bright.

“Whoa, shit,” he grumbles. He wipes a hand over his face, scratching at his scruff, and turns bleary eyes on Castiel. “Sorry, man.”

“No need to apologize. I’m sorry to wake you.”

“'s Fine. I guess the painkillers kicked in.”

“Hmm,” Castiel nods. “You clearly needed a rest. Are they still working?”

Moving gingerly, he sits up, adjusting the hot water bottle Castiel tucked behind him. His gaze drawn to the plate, his stomach growls reflexively. The portion is smaller than he'd like it to be, but that's probably sensible. God. Why does everything have to be so _sensible_ during his heats? “To an extent. There’s always this whining ache, even when they’re working. But I’m okay for now.”

He’s partly lying, because he’s far from okay, but there’s no point acknowledging that out loud. Besides, there’s food to distract him. Pulling the plate closer, he glances at Castiel, while he walks to the kitchen to get his own food.

“And the bottle helps,” he adds. “Thanks for that. I hope I wasn’t too floppy in my sleep.”

A soft laugh follows that statement. “Floppy?”

“I can be a bit of an octopus when I sleep.”

“You did no such thing. Octopus or otherwise.”

Castiel… Fuck it, his brain short-circuits on trying to stick to his full name and clearly wants to use Cas. _Cas_ sits in the arm chair and they settle down in a silence that, contrary to expectation, doesn’t rub him the wrong way. It’s soft and, dare he say it, pleasant, possibly because as soon as he takes one bite from the omelet, he realizes it’s the best he’s ever had.

“Holy fucking hell,” he mutters around a mouthful. “This is amazing…”

Cas smiles, tilting his head cutely. “Ah, thank you, I’m glad to hear my siblings never lied. At least not about that.”

He tries not to inhale the food in a few gulps, but fails and finds himself talking with a full mouth. “Liar, liar, pants on fire?”

“Very. Naomi and Lucifer lie like rugs. Gabe’s just…” He waves his fork helplessly, squinting at the food. “Gabe’s just 5 foot 7 worth of trickery and an inappropriate sense of humor.”

Dean snickers at the description. “It’s weird that somehow you talk like you love them, while sounding completely aggravated.”

Cas looks as surprised as Dean feels, perhaps rightly so at the personal subject of siblings being breached so out of the blue. “I do,” he says. “We get along well now in our adult lives, but growing up together, things could get..."

“A bit chaotic?" he offers.

“Oh, yes. We always got in trouble… Dad had to bail us out more than once. Each of us.”

Shoveling in more food, Dean’s curiosity gets the better of him. Or his paranoia, he isn’t sure. “So that’s why you know how to pick a lock?”

Cas grins, a quick, wicked flash of a thing that’s charming on a face that until now seemed stuck in squinty serious mode. “Among other things.”

“Huh.”

“What about you?”

Dean shrugs smoothly, not giving the answer any thought, while he gestures confidently with one hand. “Give me any lock. And I can hotwire a car in no time flat.”

Cas quirks a curious eyebrow at him. “I meant if you had any siblings.”

“Oh! Well, yes, one. My brother, Sam. 6 foot 4.” Why did he offer that up? “He’s still in college. Also knows how to do those things.”

“So what’s he studying?”

“Ironically, law,” Dean says, pride seeping through. It always does. “An idealist at heart, that one, though not necessarily an ethical one.”

“Aren’t we all?” The remark tugs a soft huff out of Dean. Before he can engage it, Cas gets up, wiggling his index finger at Dean to hand over his empty plate. “I’ll get these dishes out of the way. Seems you didn’t get the chance to restock your fridge, so you’ll need to make me a list.”

A pang of self-consciousness cuts through him. 

“No… Shit, I’m sorry. This must be a long way off from your regular clients. I hope you weren’t expecting to have any fun…”

Cas’ movement stutters and Dean almost lets out a frustrated snarl. He hates feeling guilty over this, which always happens with a new person.

“We provide whatever service is necessary, Dean, not just sex. There’s no need to concern yourself with that.”

“Way to quote from the pamphlet, buddy.”

He hates that too. The inability to tell whether Cas is lying, even while he shoots Dean an odd, heated glare over his shoulder, perhaps genuinely annoyed at his big mouth. 

“It’s not from… any pamphlet.”

His voice sounds tight. Warm, but tight, which is an interesting combination this guy’s got going for him. Dean bites his tongue. He risks running his mouth, because he’s still nervous. Lowkey, but hard to ignore. The pain makes it worse, but he wants to settle it and although Cas has given him nothing but perfectly acceptable signals so far, he clearly needs something more. Something other than this and he can’t define it. Perhaps it’s simply the damn blockers. His paranoid fear at work.

He plucks up a little notebook from his messy coffee table drawer and does as Cas asked. He makes a list.

*

Cas is hella efficient. He can tell, even while he’s trying not to squirm around, because he can’t get fucking comfortable. His fridge is stocked and Cas managed the food run in record time. The dishes are done and his kitchen hasn’t looked cleaner. Like, ever. Cas is the type to follow through, that much is for certain. Also provides a mighty interesting view in that crisp, white shirt, sleeves rolled up, Dean's brain unhelpfully adds. The tie is gone.

Awesome. He’s panting now, salivating under his tongue, which he can hide somewhat. And slicking again, which he can’t hide at all… It’s the simple biology of his heat and the pain, but he’s uncomfortable about it either way, and it's not like he's actually in the mood.

“Alright,” Cas says, walking up to him. He behaves like he can’t smell Dean. Maybe he’s scent-deaf. Or maybe Dean’s scent doesn’t do jack-shit for him. “That’s done. And you…”

“… are not okay,” Dean finishes for him. “I’m s…”

“Please stop apologizing for being in pain.”

“It’s a reflex.”

Clenching his jaw, Cas glares at him, blue eyes darker, which has Dean’s heart somersaulting funnily. “Of course it is.”

Whatever snarky thing Dean wants to say next is swept up in bile rising up his throat. Knowing _exactly_ where this is going, he scrambles, knocking his shin on the coffee table in his frantic haste to get to the bathroom, but never makes it. Instead he drops to his knees, barely away from the carpet, and he wants to protest what is about to happen, in the futile hope that mind over matter might work, but the next second, his dinner is on the floor and he’s heaving hard enough for his midriff to hurt.

Within seconds, Cas’ hands are on his flanks and he tries to push them off. “Fuck, n…”

The lament gets cut off with another bout of vomit forcing its way out. Whining miserably, he blinks against the tears, crawling on hands and feet. But then Cas is helping him up, despite his objections, and, fuck, he's strong.

“Cas, no, I’m disgusting, don’t tou…”

“Dean, enough. Let me help.” 

The Alpha order lands without mercy. On top of everything screaming and writhing in his body, it hurts like hell. In the bathroom, Cas settles him down on his knees at the edge of the tub. He mewls again, reaching for the toilet, because who the hell pukes in a tub? Cas puts his hand to the back of his neck, squeezing gently.

“Bath tub, Dean,” Cas says. “Throwing up is a bad enough experience without having your head down a damned toilet.”

That’s not how John taught them, a random, isolated thought, before his brain gives under the horrid act of puking his guts out. He plants his hands against the opposite wall, searching for texture to distract himself. Cas holds his shirt loosely between his shoulders and runs the water. The sounds Dean is making are dim to his own ears, echoing against the yellow-spotted enamel, which he hasn’t cleaned decently in too long. He tries not to look at the muck going down the drain, instead focuses on Cas’ voice and the water running from the tap.

“You’ll be alright,” Cas coos. His hand is large and anchoring against Dean’s lower back. “I’ve got you...”

Dean’s mind hiccups and he’s sure he misses more sweet words, when a third or fourth load, reduced to bile, hits. He heaves, crying soundlessly. He loathes being this weak. So vulnerable and miserable, he can't even stand up. His throat stings on the first try when he tries to speak and he clears it, wincing at that particular brand of pain joining the party.

“Uuugh, I think I’m done…”

Cas places his wrist to his forehead. “That’s good.”

A stilted moment follows in which Cas is holding out a wet wash cloth, both of them wondering, until Dean accepts it to wipe his mouth and chin himself.

“Thanks... Fuck, I need to get to bed…”

“Need some help getting up?”

Leering sideways, Dean wants to be grumpy about it when he nods, hating this deeply unpleasant return into his aching, exhausted body. He doesn’t fully succeed in the face of those wide, searching eyes, tracking his form in earnest. Cas snakes an arm around his waist, gently getting him back to his feet, and holy friggin’ Christ… It’s like having his own, personal stove. Interesting. Promising. But also...

He pushes against the hold Cas has on him. “Dude, you’re so warm. Is your rut gonna hit while you’re here?”

Frowning, Cas lets out an exasperated sigh and holds Dean tight, crowding his personal space. They’re almost nose to nose, and he still can’t smell him. That’s some grade A blockers he’s got.

“I have an idea,” Cas says, voice dipping deeper.

Dean inhales, holding his breath, because he must stink, but he’s also unholyly distracted with staring at Cas’ lips. “Y… you do?”

“Yes,” and, fuck, Cas’ breath actually hits his skin. He can smell the food on him and a hint of peppermint, which isn’t as nauseating as he expects it to be. How…? Who brushes their teeth throughout the day? Maybe he chews gum. Those lips move again.

“How about this… No apologizing for expressing you’re in pain. And you stop worrying yourself sick with horror scenarios.”

“What… I wasn’t…”

He falters and they stare at each other, Cas oozing scepticism. “Hmm. Be that as it may, my rut isn’t close by any stretch of the imagination.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to say that and be dead wrong, and then I’m usually…”

He catches himself and ducks his head, pushing the memories as far from his mind as he can. Cas studies him attentively, eyes squinting. That’s a mighty interesting flex to his jawline, Dean thinks, skin tingling under the intense scrutiny.

“Men my age usually don’t get surprised by their rut, Dean, unless under very specific circumstances. And even when they do, it doesn’t run the show. It surely doesn’t for me,” he adds specifically.

Dean inhales deeply and finds a twinge of something bittersweet, but it’s too fleeting. “Can’t fault me for being cautious. I wasn’t so lucky with some of your colleagues.”

Cas' eyes flash briefly. “Jody mentioned something of the sort. If you don’t mind me asking, how bad was their behavior?”

Dean shakes his head, instantly dizzy. Cas cards fingers through his hair, which he wants to escape from, because he feels filthy, but at the same time the contact is frustratingly short-lived. “Never as bad as some of the other shit I’ve been through. They just got obsessive… like it was personal. And the way they wanted to make me better… y’know, wasn’t what I needed. Or wanted.”

He flusters for whatever juvenile reason, but Cas simply nods, taking a step back, and Dean follows him, his hand resting on the sink. Smooth and easy, their movements, though Cas’ squint is back. “Yes, it’s one of the things we try to teach our people. We’re a heat and rut service, but that doesn’t equal the same approach for everyone.”

“ _Our_ people… You lot close or somethin’?”

“We are,” he smiles. “To an extent.”

“Not what I meant,” Dean says. “You talk as if you’re the one teaching them.” When Cas doesn’t reply, Dean leans both hands on the kitchen sink, glad for the coolness under his palms, thoughts elsewhere. “I take it you brought your stuff. Feel free to take up the space you need.”

He rummages around, wanting to create order among the chaos, but Cas stops him.

“I did,” he nods. “Will you take a shower?”

He sniffs himself and winces. “Real subtle, Cas.”

“That’s not…”

Dean chuckles, despite how miserable he feels. God, it’s easy to confuse this guy. Adorable. Very un-Alpha. He smiles, when Cas narrows his eyes at him, something close to arrogance seeping in. As if he’s somehow aware of how he can affect people, if he puts his mind to it. His hand cups Dean's elbow and he tilts forward slightly.

“Will you be alright or would you like… _help_?”

Ah, _hell_. That'll fucking do.

“No. Nope. I’m… I’m good. But… Thanks. For that.”

Dean swears he catches a smirk, but it’s gone the next second.

“And you’re right,” Cas continues without a hitch. “I do teach them, insofar as it's really a give and take. They’re my employees.”

With those words, Cas closes the door to the bathroom, leaving Dean to his evening ritual. It’s a slow one, while the first impressions and new information sink in and he tends to his sore body. He showers, rinsing a day’s worth of sweat and slick off, for all the good it’ll do him. He brushes his teeth. Twice. His tongue too, which has him gagging. He puts on a fresh pair of boxers, the padded type, loose around the waist, because any kind of pressure hurts. His gaze flicks to his pajama pants, but he foregoes them. He’ll get way too warm. No need for more layers.

Putting on his comfy robe, he peeks into the hallway, looking left and right, in search of Cas. Leaning against the doorframe, he takes a few breaths of cooler air. Cas’ duffel is next to the door. He appears from Dean’s bedroom, raking a hand through his dark hair.

“Ahh,” he smiles. “How do you feel?”

“Marginally better. Tired,” he adds.

“Understandable, from what I’ve seen so far. Does that happen often?”

“Regularly, yes,” he mumbles. “Often enough.”

Cas nods, exhaling slowly, while he gestures inside his bedroom. “I freshened up your bottle, in case you’d want it. Set out some juice and a snack too. Cleaned up in the living room.”

“Ugh...,” Dean says, barely holding in the apology. “Thanks…” He wants to ask if Cas is coming to bed. But his mind slip-slides elsewhere, his mouth too fast. “So.. _Brush_? Y… you’re the… uh…?”

“Owner. Yes.” 

“No way.”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Cas hovers in the narrow hallway. He looks on edge. “Does that go a way towards easing your concerns?”

“Jody talked about you.”

“She did?”

“Not by name, but yeah, she did.”

Cas nods, clearly not intent on prying or checking what Jody said about him, or, in fact, calling Dean out on dodging his question.

“So… If that helps, you really can relax. You look like you need... a good night’s rest."

When Dean doesn't reply and they continue to stare at each other, Cas' eyes soften, and there's a permanent hint of sadness to them that confuses Dean.

"And my warmth is at your disposal.”

Dean flusters, which is ridiculous, but he does want that warmth. He nods, imperceptibly, and Cas mirrors it, picking up his duffel.

“I’d like to go to bed,” Dean says.

“Okay.”

“With your warmth.”

“Okay,” Cas echoes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’ll be right with you.”

Dean’s sure he would be able to smell that attitude, if Cas wasn’t wearing blockers. As it is, he watches Cas’ large hand push open the bathroom door and then he’s alone. After a few bemused moments of blinking at the closed door, the sound of running water comes through. He walks into his bedroom and stops dead in his tracks.

“Sonova…”

His voice gives out on the ‘bitch’.

Extra pillows. Blankets. Hot water bottle. Sustenance. Meds. The salt lamp Sam got him, which Cas must have found on his hunt for extra softness, because it sure as hell wasn’t on the bedside table, coating the room in a warm, orange glow.

He doesn’t want to call it a nest. That would be silly. The part of him that's keeping a tally wants to worry, but knowing what he knows and feeling how he’s feeling, which is to say tired as fuck and utterly miserable, he lets the robe fall and crawls onto the bed. With a soft sigh, he all but falls into the temptation of a nest, even when it ain't, stretching and curling up under the blankets. The bottle is an assault on his skin, as per usual, but unnecessary, he thinks, because Cas is joining soon.

So he slides it to the top corner of the bed, within reach, just in case, and he… waits. Listens to the running water and the sound of Cas going through his evening ritual. The door opening and the gentle sound of Cas’ feet over his floor. He smiles when he senses Cas moving gingerly, as if he’s worried Dean is already asleep.

“I’m still awake.”

The mattress dips under the added weight. “I wasn’t sure…”

Dean scrunches up his nose, when Cas’ scent is still masked. “You reapplied blockers.”

“I did,” Cas says. “Your scent’s been all over the place…”

He grumbles. "I'm..."

Cas’ hand on his flank shuts him up. “I’d like you to feel more at ease, before I add my scent to the mix. Having to deal with a new service worker can be intense.”

Oh. That's... considerate.

Cas' fingers fan out across his ribs. “Is this okay?”

“Closer,” he mumbles.

Obliging immediately, Cas presses to him, and oh, hot damn, his warmth is so amazing, Dean whimpers. “That feels good. You’re a friggin’ furnace, Cas.”

The laugh that rumbles up from deep within Cas’ chest vibrates through him, which is even better. 

“And _you_ didn’t dry off decently,” Cas says. He slides a hand over the curve of Dean’s shoulder, wiping away some of the drops that remained.

“It happens.” 

He squirms, pressing his butt to Cas’ groin, because he doesn’t care, and pulls at his arms so they’re boxing him in.

“Closer still?” Cas chuckles.

“I warned you. I mean, I told you, which counts as fair warning. And I might wake you up during the night, depending how bad it gets.”

“That’s alright. I’ll be here.”

Which sounds too much like a promise, but Dean takes it. The words. The warmth.


	4. “Why are you still wearing blockers?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas lets out a sound of appreciation and nuzzles in the back of his neck, which really shouldn’t feel this comforting, but it does. “Promise me you’ll draw the line whenever you need to.”
> 
> Dean huffs, instantly yelps a sweet laugh, when Cas’ lips find a point of contact at the nape of his neck.
> 
> “It remains important. I know your file, Dean.”
> 
> “But not the story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will people have the patience until the end of year? Feels like a good thing to hang onto throughout this actual descent of the seven levels of hell on earth, but I ain't a patient woman sometimes. So surprise chapter! The Tuesday chapters are fixed, but there may be extras like this sprinkled in!
> 
> Surgery on Thursday. Send love and trust.  
> Love to you and yours,  
> As always,  
> Mal

Dean struggles out of his third nap on the completely miserable second day of his heat. No puking today. So far. Merely an endless fatigue interspersed with waves of pain. His body is getting weighed down under the strain. He glares at the light and closes his eyes again. He’s naked, because apparently that was a good idea somewhere along the day. Thank fuck Cas isn’t here...

Wait, no.

He pushes up on one hand, glancing around the room through one squinty eye.

Why isn’t Cas with him?

Sniffing a few times, he works his tongue around his sticky mouth, and then it hits. The scent of garlic and fresh meat baking in olive oil. He’s suddenly sharply aware of his hunger. Vaguely remembers Cas trying to get him to eat. His instincts run the show. Moving slowly, he gets out of the bed and puts on the robe. He takes a pitstop in the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth, checking in with his body for a moment.

Their night’s rest was extremely messy, but Cas handled his grumpy ass with elegant grace every time, even when Sam checked in at 8 and then again at 10. He helped Dean to the bathroom. Handed him his painkillers and water. Even talked him back to sleep at some point, though he doesn’t recall what was said or if he took part in the conversation. He pouts slightly at that. Right now, ‘fresh’ out of sleep, he’s feeling relatively alright. He follows his nose, expecting to find food and, as implied yesterday, Cas at the end, when he gets to the kitchen.

His Omega whines in heartfelt annoyance when he tries to scent Cas past the food.

“You’re still wearing blockers,” he says testily.

“Good afternoon, Dean.”

He sniffs the air and heads straight for the pot of coffee, checking if it’s warm. Strangely, this late in the day, it is. “ _Why_ are you still wearing blockers?”

Is that a smirk?

“My, you have a focus on you.”

Grumbling, he pours himself a cup, stirring in sugar and cream, because he fucking can. Dairy, bad, a little voice says. It sounds suspiciously like Sam. When he turns towards Cas, ready to push the matter of blockers, whatever his scent is doing has Cas lifting a hand in gentle truce.

“You’re sure you want me to remove the blockers?”

Shrugging delicately, trying not to pout again, he sips the warm beverage, sighing when the comfort hits. He tries to sound even, hoping his scent won’t give away his hopeless curiosity. “What's s the point of having an actual Alpha around whose scent can…?”

He leaves the rest of that sentence hanging.

“Besides cooking and providing warmth, you mean.”

“And holding my hair up while I projectile-vomit. And cleaning up after that,” he adds, wincing. “Yeah, Cas, besides all that and because you didn’t totally swoop in here and carry me to my couch yesterday.”

For whatever damn reason, there’s a brief moment of contemplation necessary on Cas’ part, until he clears his throat, his gaze focused on the onion-minced meat mixture in the pan.

“If you’re comfortable picking up on certain things in my scent…”

He's looking to the pot of boiling pasta.

“That’s the whole point.” His brain’s a bit sluggish in catching Cas’ reluctance. “Things such as?”

Cas tugs at his earlobe, then squeezes his nose, all the while stirring the bubbly vegetable sauce he has going in the second pan. He casts Dean a searching glance, brow furrowed, the crease growing deeper when he finally decides to speak.

“Mainly that I find you insanely attractive, which in my defence, I’m sure most of the world population will agree upon, and I don’t just mean this,” he waves helplessly at all of Dean, spraying red drops of sauce across the counter and floor. Cas flinches, grabbing a paper towel to wipe up the mess, and the whole awkward moment provokes an equally helpless, disbelieving half-chuckle from Dean, “But your scent too…”

“My scent?" he blurts out. "I smell horrid.”

Cas gapes at him, horrified. “No, you don’t. I mean… Your scent is there, beneath the pain.”

Dean gawks in turn, when he realizes that Cas is serious. His scent. Cas _likes_ his scent? Never mind the aesthetics thrown in between the two of them. (What? He's not blind and he's been called 'pretty' one too many times.) Is this guy genuinely asking if Dean’s okay with a smokin’ hot Alpha’s scent telling him how attractive he is, 24/7, as long as he’s here during his shitty heat?

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely, rubbing at his forehead in silent aggravation, “I think I can work with that, Cas.”

Nodding, Cas tilts his head and the way he bodily angles himself towards Dean almost feels like an invitation. “Okay. Okay, I’ll make use of your shower again after dinner.”

He whines softly and Cas’ back straightens, like a jolt of electricity shot through him. Dean may as well have pinched him in the thigh. “But… Why not now?”

“After dinner. You haven’t eaten today, despite my attempts, but then you were clearly very tired.”

“Yeah, sorry I woke you up so often.”

He pours off the pasta and quickly assembles two generous portions. “Don’t worry about it. I caught a nap with you, remember.”

“So you did,” Dean smiles.

“Couch?” Cas suggests.

“Yes.” Dean takes the bowl from him, salivating when the scent swirls up to meet him. “Were you a cook in a previous life or something?”

“No. Why?”

Oh, so deadly serious.

“Because this smells delicious.”

They settle on the couch, Cas arranging the blanket around him so his lower half is covered, snug and warm.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

The first bite elicits a groan. Cas looks at him indulgently and he resists the urge to lean closer. He’d still like to ask about how Cas started doing this, but that seems rude. How many people go into sex work, because everything’s coming up roses?

While they eat in silence, Cas gives him that easy smile, as if this is the only sensible thing for him to be doing with his time. The only logical place to be, and Dean wonders when he forgot that his experiences aren’t the majority’s. That, like Sam, there are good Alphas out there. He just got unlucky. Or somehow allowed it to happen; he sometimes still isn’t sure where to lay the blame.

Besides his own body.

“Dean,” Cas says.

Cas is frowning at the bowl, which has Dean wondering if something is off, maybe one of the ingredients, but that seems unlikely. They were all fresh.

“What?”

“Not sure where you just went, but it doesn’t feel like it’s anywhere pleasant. Stay with me.”

“Fuck me,” he grumbles. 

That sends Cas’ eyebrows sky-high for a moment, but they settle back down quickly enough. He twirls his fork in circles, rolling the pasta around it, before bringing it to his mouth. Dean tracks the gesture for a bit, distracted by the way Cas’ lips move around the food. Before he realizes he may need to say something.

“I forgot how it can be.”

“It being… Alphas?”

He winces. It’s obscenely easy for Cas to pluck his thoughts out of the air like snowflakes. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Am I bothering you by picking up on so much? I can hold back, if you like, but I find myself attuned to your scent and it’s... difficult to ignore your needs, if you will.”

“I... I’m not sure,” Dean says, trying not to feel charmed by Cas’ honesty. “It surprises me, that’s all.”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

Mouth full, he chews the food slow and deliberate, buying himself time. He swallows and bites his lip. He isn’t uncomfortable. At least he doesn’t think he is. So he shakes his head. His scent seems to give Cas enough reason not to pursue it further and they finish their dinner in silence, by which time his mind is already skipping ahead to the moment Cas is out of the shower.

Get to it.

Somehow he manages not to bring it up. Not to hurry Cas along. Because it’s needy and maybe rude, though he usually doesn’t care about that. Instead he waits out the minutes, fucking oceans of seconds ticking by, while Cas clears away the dishes. His patience is tested some more when Cas boils water for his hot water bottle, bringing it over.

Dean grumbles lowly, eliciting a soft chuckle from Cas. “What is it?”

“Your warmth is much more pleasant than this rubber thing.”

“I won’t be long.”

Somehow Cas utters those kind of words like promises. It’s unsettlingly appealing.

Dean is nervously fidgeting and fiddling, hidden away underneath the blanket again, while Cas showers. He actively tries to sniff him out, but the door is closed, and he dismisses the invasive act of sneaking over. Grimacing, he puts his hands on his abdomen, that unpleasant stickiness already clinging to his whole groin area, lower back and ass.

The bathroom door opens with a loud click and within a few seconds, Cas’ scent is wafting into his living room like a thick mist coming in over the hills. Hearing the sound of bare feet, Dean all but throws the blanket off and inhales through both his nose and mouth like his life depends on it. Cas comes to a startled halt, foot comically dangling in the air for a moment. He lands his weight on it, hip tilted, and hesitates. Clearly he was hoping to just go about his merry way rather than this, whatever it is.

“Is it alright?”

Why does this gorgeous specimen sound nervous?

Eyes glued to each other, Dean breathes Cas in through his mouth a few more times. Deep, fast, greedy gulps of air, his body responding to the fragrances permeating him.

A glass of room temperature bourbon, poured over crackling ice cubes, swirling with a hint of honey and the intense heat of a campfire.

Endless summer nights, where the temperatures never really go down, until they suddenly do and you cuddle up under a blanket in the back of the car.

A star-dappled sky, expanding to the edges of the known world and beyond, carrying the fragrance of ozone and the universe on the wind.

"Dean...?"

A sound to the affirmative is wrenched from somewhere deep inside him, an Omega whimper he hasn’t let out in his lifetime, because his tongue and teeth and mouth have stopped working, and alas, those are the ones he needs for words. So the sound will have to do. Cas straightens to his full length and puffs his chest out, nostrils flaring at the spike of approval in Dean’s scent. A delightful smile tugs at Cas’ mouth and a most interesting light dances in his eyes. Strangely they skitter to the kitchen and he moves towards it, as if that's that.

Another small sound from Dean stops Cas in his tracks, because, no, Dean doesn’t want him to go do _whatever…_

Is there even anything that merits Cas’ attention besides Dean?

His Omega howls, soft and sweet, when it turns out he doesn’t have to speak any of those vague, instinctual impressions out loud. The tiny sound spills from him and Cas comes to him, like a man in a dream, bending through his knees, so they’re eye to eye. A soft purr makes it out, when Cas touches his hair.

“Are you okay?”

He nods, eyes falling shut at the tactile experience of Cas’ fingers on his scalp, a languid, syrupy feeling trickling down his spine. Cas’ Alpha is intensely present, filling up the room, when he suddenly, subtly slips his wrist over the side of Dean’s neck. It is barely there, but Dean senses the mark seep into his skin. How long has that been? Intimate and yet so foreign, it is a gesture he bares his neck for, one he would gladly roll on his back for, revealing his underbelly if it isn't for the hot water bottle, and, fuck, when did he get reduced to his Omega tendencies?

He opens his eyes, only to find Cas’ blown almost fully black. Okay. Attracted. Very much so. He did say that. Overwhelmed, his head spins and he breathes faster.

“I… I hope that is okay?”

Somehow he gathers enough brain cells for language. “Your scent? Or the mark?”

Searching his face, Cas squints, a faint blush at his cheekbones, but doesn’t look away. For a split second, Dean worries some misplaced form of territorial behavior is kicking in, when he instead catches the concern, a sweet touch of cherries skating through Cas’ scent briefly.

“Yeah, Cas, the mark is okay. As is your scent.”

Understatement of the fucking decade.

Settling into this strangely unexpected experience, he smiles. Cas’ presence throughout the night was soothing, but to know his scent and have it infuse his place, creating his own little slice of heaven for as long as it lasts, easing his nerves, yeah, he is okay with it. He’s not gonna say it out loud to that extent, because there seems to be more than a generous hint of need to it. Unhelpful for everyone involved. And not his style.

*

Dean tries not to move too much, but it’s difficult. When it gets this bad, he usually keeps squirming and turning around, until he happens to hit an angle where it miraculously hurts a little less. But Cas is curled warm and protective around him on the couch, which eases some of it. And he doesn’t want to bother the Alpha with his incessant wiggling. He ducks his head when Cas' warm breath huffs out against his neck. It tickles.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Cas, you’ve been in my personal space, experiencing the worst of me. I think you’re okay not worrying about every level of interaction.”

A deep hum behind him. They caught some sleep together. Not much. He’s starting to wonder if he isn’t keeping Cas from anything. Both Lee and Nick usually spend time doing their own thing, when they’re not caring for Dean, but Cas seems to be ever-present.

“What is the reason there is always an undercurrent of stress in your scent? Besides the obvious response to being in pain, I mean.”

Dean opens his eyes, staring dead ahead at the open window. There’s a gentle breeze, suggestive of impending rain. Tonight or early morning. He worries his lip. “You smell the difference?”

Shifting minutely, Cas moves his hand low on his abdomen. A habit he’s developed in less than 36 hours, which Dean really shouldn’t find that alluring. “Well… Yes?”

Dean grunts softly. “You’re the first one to distinguish between the two.”

Cas hums noncommittally, though a sense of judgement on behalf of the clueless ones who came before him makes it through, which is highly amusing. He gets the feeling this Alpha is sensitive to… making a difference? _Being_ the difference?

“I appreciate the sentiment, Cas.”

“Uh-hmm. If you are comfortable sharing that answer, that is.”

“I… No? Not yet maybe?”

He works his mind around the word 'no' a few more times, an instant sweat breaking out. Cas is quick to hide his feelings, but thankfully, not quick enough. Dean regularly feels affected by the intimate aspect of scent-sharing. A spike of disappointment betrays him, before he schools it the way most people do their features, and there is.. What… fear? Why…

“It’s alright, Dean.”

Ah… Shit. _That_ feeling is his own.

“No need to worry about my reaction.”

Cas pulls him closer, a soothing Alpha rumble emanating from him. Dean breathes shallower a few times, regaining his composure and burrows closer to Cas, until the instinctive fear response abates. He doesn’t know how or why, but eventually he relaxes again, which normally _never_ happens after that type of sentiment gets triggered. Yet here he is… and fuck him, if Cas doesn’t actually smell rather content about that.

This is a peculiarly strange Alpha, he muses.

“Now…”

“Yes?”

“When you say every level of interaction… Which ones do I have blanket permission for? If any.”

 _That_ he recognizes as an Alpha question. He senses it in the way Cas’ arms tighten around him and how Cas’ heart all of a sudden beats a helluva lot harder at the implications of whatever answer Dean decides to give him, his own galloping in hot pursuit.

“This,” he replies immediately. “Physical proximity.”

“Everywhere?”

“I’m usually in the bed or on the couch, but yeah… Everywhere sounds good.”

Cas lets out a sound of appreciation and nuzzles in the back of his neck, which shouldn’t be so comforting, but his Omega has no regard for what should or shouldn't be. “Promise me you’ll draw the line whenever you need to.”

Dean huffs, instantly yelps a sweet laugh, when Cas’ lips find a point of contact at the nape of his neck.

“It remains important. I know your file, Dean.”

“But not the story.”

Fuck, his breath is warm. Goosebumps pebble and fan out across his body. 

“True. Which you choose not to share and that is your prerogative, but you can’t hold it against me for helping you safeguard your boundaries. As you said, I’m here for you. Your needs are my only priority. Please promise me.”

There’s something else there, a subtlety in Cas’ scent he can’t identify at all, but his Omega relishes it. He twists around inside Cas’ embrace, so he can see him, partly to study his face, partly so Cas can see his. After a moment’s contemplation, where he’s lost in the beauty in front of him, Dean sweetly noses at Cas’ cheek. It makes the Alpha squint shut one eye and glower at the same time, smiling reluctantly as if Dean caught him off guard.

“I will, Cas.”

“Okay, good. Anything you need right now?”

“Just this,” Dean says, while he settles back in. 

“And… uhm..”

“Yes?”

“If you feel like sharing the story, I’m here.”

Not an Alpha offer. A genuine one, if the light breeze through Cas’ scent is anything to go by and it releases a bunch of jittery feelings, bouncing against his insides, as if they want to try and push against the limitations in place.


	5. “What can I do?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel slurs out a string of incoherent curses when Dean’s chiming phone lurches him out of his sleep. Mentally fuming at the intrusion, he reaches over Dean to grab it and picks up without second-guessing himself, a protective snarl to his voice.
> 
> “Hello.”
> 
> “Whoa,” an unfamiliar voice at the other end says. “Who… Oh, right! I take it you’re the Alpha? I’m Sam, his brother. Is he okay?”

Castiel glances at the hold Dean has on him, fingers curled around his lower arm, gently digging into his muscles. The pressure increases and decreases with every wave of pain Dean goes through. He’s standing by the side of the bed, feeling hopeless and useless in equal measure. Because as much as he has been able to do for Dean - which, surprisingly, turns out to be more than he expected - he is at a complete loss, faced with those pleading spring-green eyes, begging him to make it stop.

Because he can’t.

People’s files never cover reality. Certainly Dean’s didn’t cover his, because the pain Castiel experiences by proxy is debilitating. His legs tremble in a Pavlov response and his lower back aches. If ever Alphas come to understand what it’s truly like to be an Omega, to bear the possibility of birthing life and the price that comes with it, he’s sure he’d be out of a job. He wouldn’t need to explain or educate any of them. And as much as he’s looked into the reality of sex versus care, he feels inadequate confronted with Dean’s medical issues.

He’s tried to catalogue the symptoms. An endless, throbbing pain, interspersed with horrid spikes, like icepicks being driven through his most sensitive organs. Those were Dean’s words, in an unusual bout of forthcomingness. The side-effects of pain, both in mind and body. No one can pretend to be ‘okay’ through this, but many do, simply because they risk judgement or worse. The near-permanent exhaustion. How Dean goes through this every month and remains a - granted - mouthy joy to be around, he can’t fathom.

Dean’s nails dig into his lower arm. They’re connected there. His palm is resting on the fragile underside, Castiel’s fingers loosely wrapped around Dean’s wrist. He can feel his pulse, beating rapidly, without even searching for it. Dean squirms, groans, eyes scrunched shut, when he turns away from Castiel, searching for another position to alleviate the pain. The sound cuts through him, dancing across his nervous system, triggering a fight response, except there’s no obvious opponent.

“What can I do?”

Dean whimpers, merely shaking his head, and tugs at him, but it feels insufficient. His Alpha takes the reins and he slides into bed with him. A blessedly naked Dean, barring his underwear, and he’s so soft and warm, even when in pain, Castiel’s heart lurches at being granted this closeness.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

And Dean does. Stilted, because he knows what Castiel is asking, and he is somehow shy about it. Castiel isn’t sure. They’ve talked and as open as he is in some ways, the true depth of what lies beneath the surface of him, Dean keeps to himself. Which considering they met three days ago isn’t strange. That these depths exist is a given, because for all his attitude and bluster, Dean's vulnerabilities weave wordlessly through his scent. He coaxes Dean closer, wipes the sweat off his brow with his sleeve, which elicits an annoyed, little snarl that shouldn’t make him smile, but all the same… Hazy, green eyes find his from under the scowl. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” he says, voice low, heading into Alpha territory. “I’m here to help. You asked me to ditch the blockers, remember?”

The hint lands and the next thing he knows, Dean’s scenting him. Why this instantly turns into a different type of fight or flight internal struggle for himself, Castiel shies away from, but his Alpha preens every time Dean gives in. Warm, moist breaths against his skin, soft whimpers that make him hold Dean tight, soaking up his wintery scent and, hopefully, some of his distress. The promise of snow on the air. Crisp, clean. Gorgeous, even when it’s marred by a sharp acidic smell. His hands search out the pained parts of him, reading his body language like a secret code, until he settles them on Dean’s lower back. 

“Hmm, Cas,” Dean simpers, rubbing his cheek to his neck over and over.

With Dean slotted to his side like perfection, Castiel feels like the flaw in that reality. He’s getting caught up in this. Tangibly. The intellectual part of him is aware. He made Dean a nest on day one, for God’s sake, and ever since Dean didn’t throw a fit, he’s been maintaining it. Because he can’t not pull out all the stops.

A deep, shaky sigh on his part and Dean marginally relaxes against him. Gently, he brings one hand up to his hair, massaging his scalp in slow circles. There follows a sweet purr, which settles into a permanent rumble, while he continues, much too pleased with the way he affects Dean. The way he _helps_ Dean, he reminds himself. That should be his reminder. That should be enough.

A deeper sigh, and Dean’s out. Castiel peeks at him down the slant of his nose, resisting the urge to count freckles or find constellations. Whatever’s happening, at least his presence seems to be making a difference. It leaves Castiel alone with his thoughts. A peculiar balancing exercise, but he likes to think he’s doing the right thing.

*

Castiel slurs out a string of incoherent curses when Dean’s chiming phone lurches him out of his sleep. Mentally fuming at the intrusion, he reaches over Dean to grab it and picks up without second-guessing himself, a protective snarl to his voice.

“Hello.”

“Whoa,” an unfamiliar voice at the other end says. “Who… Oh, right! I take it you’re the Alpha? I’m Sam, his brother. Is he okay?”

‘The Alpha’. He snorts. Sure.

“Hi, Sam. It’s Castiel,” he says. “I’m sorry, but Dean is finally asleep…”

“Shit,” Sam huffs. He lowers his voice too, as if he’s in the room with them. “How is he?”

“Hard to say. It seems to be getting better, but still…”

“That bad? I mean, I know, obviously, because he tells me, but unless you’re there…”

“Yes, it’s difficult to truly understand. Still is, even for me,” Castiel finishes. 

“Hey, you’re the professional,” Sam says sharply. “I’m sure you got this.”

He frowns, pleasantly surprised by this protective hint of Sam. “Would you like to talk to him?”

“Hell, if he’s still asleep, leave him. I just wanted to check in, because he was nerv…” He catches himself and stutters for a moment. “Well, I mean, I try to check how he’s doing. Usually when he doesn’t pick up, I call Lee or Nick, but seeing as I don’t know you…”

“Castiel Novak.”

“You’re not in the system.”

“I’m officially retired, but I will text you my number after this call.”

For a while, it remains quiet on the other end. “You’re retired? So how did you end up with my brother?”

Alpha, for sure, Castiel thinks, and is instantly relieved to know Sam’s been there for Dean. “I own the company with Jody and was around when your brother called. Considering his specific needs and the distress he was in, I offered to assist.”

“You… Retired? What? How _old_ are you?!”

“You think alike, clearly,” Castiel mutters, a touch miffed. “Forty-five.”

“Oh, right,” Sam says. “Sorry, man, shit, sorry, that was rude. I keep forgetting Dean’s age bracket is way higher than mine. I mean, not _way_ higher… Not that you’re old, but… F… Shit.”

The sincerity in Sam’s voice pulls a reluctant laugh from him and he decides to put the kid out of his misery. “It’s okay. No offence taken. I’m glad to hear how you care for Dean.” His eyes track to Dean, who’s whimpering softly, nosing around, searching, a vulnerable sight that has an almost violent effect on him and the speed with which he lies back down beside him. A hapless smile forms, when Dean snuggles up. “He deserves…”

“Mmh, Cas?”

Dean sounds groggy, while he palms his eyes. There’s a mild tremble coursing through him, which makes Castiel hold him tighter. They both go slightly cross-eyed while staring at each other in this proximity, until Dean’s focus shifts to the device in Castiel’s hand.

“That’s my phone,” he grumbles.

“Yes, it rang and I didn’t want you to wake up. I’m sorry,” Castiel says. He was hoping Dean would sleep through most of the afternoon. “It’s your brother.”

He hands over the phone to a mildly glowering Dean, suddenly very aware of his rudeness. 

“Heya, Sammy.”

Settling down on the pillow, he avoids looking at Dean. Throws his arm over his eyes, because he feels like an intruder even more when Sam and Dean fall into a soft-spoken conversation, which he actively and successfully tunes out. His thoughts tumble like clothes in the washer. For a split second, he makes to move away, to give Dean the privacy he needs, but a strong hand clamps down on his arm. So he reluctantly looks at him and Dean’s shaking his head frantically, eyes wide.

His lips move. But two words. 

_Don’t go._

Who is he to deny hi… this Omega? It is a short call and Dean’s flopping on top of him as soon as he tosses the phone aside, his nose back in Castiel’s neck, one leg and arm slung over his chest and legs. He catches sight of a delightful blush, warming Dean’s face, and something slightly sour, shameful in nature, hits his senses.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, though his brain is lighting up with a different kind of energy at the zeal behind Dean’s touch.

“It’s fine.”

“I shouldn’t have. It was a breach of your privacy.”

“Yeah,” Dean hums against his skin. “I didn’t hear it ringing though.”

“That’s hardly an excuse.”

“Cas, arms,” Dean whines. “Hand…”

He responds like a moth caught in the glare of a flame and adjusts until he’s hugging Dean, hands back where Dean wants them. The sour twinge to his scent abates marginally.

“Besides, Sam would have worried, even though he says he doesn’t.”

Castiel huffs into Dean’s hair. “Because stranger Alpha in your apartment?”

“Well, duh,” Dean says, but it’s on a smile. “So this is okay.”

“I promised I’d send him my information so he can contact me, if necessary.”

Inelegantly, Dean grunts and shakes his head, pressing closer still. He’s surprisingly heavy like this, heavier than the one time Castiel carried him, but he finds he doesn’t mind at all. “He can wait.”

“Dean.”

“Cas?”

He laughs, because he didn’t know it was possible for so much sass to be conveyed in the abbreviation of his name. Licking his lips, he looks at Dean. His face rests on his chest, tilted sideways, green eyes fluttering open at being jostled by Castiel’s laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your general lack of decorum.”

“Ugh, decorum shmecorum.” Dean rubs his face against his chest for a moment, effectively marking him. Again. A warmth spreads through his chest at the view. “I’m in too much pain to care and I wanna nap.”

A swirl of something intensely sweet and tempting invades Castiel’s senses and he watches Dean’s cheeks turn pink. Pain and pleasure don’t really mix in this case. To him, he knows they don’t, barring a loving scratch or a bite.

Ah, biting. Unwise thought to have... 

He stumbles through his own mind, unsure what he’s throwing to the wolves.

Dean’s pupils dilate, while he stares at Castiel, and his heart beats loud enough, Dean must feel it under his cheek. He can see his own sternum moving with every steady thud. An impish smile shapes those beautiful lips and Castiel squints at him. “What?”

“Charmed, Cas,” Dean grins, eyes sparkling.

Surprised at the audacity he finds there, he cocks his eyebrow, even more so when Dean’s eyes nearly go black at that. He allows himself the teasing intent. “I could say the same.” 

Smirking at the lovely upswirl of emotions that elicits, the deepened flush that travels down to Dean’s neck, Castiel decides to back off before this gets too intense. Or inappropriate. He relaxes his neck and closes his eyes, tugging at Dean in a non-negotiable way.

“Now weren’t you going to nap?”

“Yeah,” Dean croaks, hidden against his chest. “Yeah. Good idea.”

It takes a good long while before he actually falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, last chapter before the surgery. Should be going in by eleven on Thursday. Final tweaks to the next five or so chapters done.
> 
> Thanks for being here, if you decided to join with these two softies, and the wellwishes for the surgery! See you on the other side.  
> Hugs,  
> Mal


	6. “Of course you’d go for a cheesecloth condom.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My people skills are rusty,” he says, tone dubious, bordering on confused, “Or so I’ve been told.”
> 
> Pushing himself up, Dean frowns, a strange sound worming its way out. “What? Who the fuck told you that?”

“You seem to be doing better,” Cas says, giving him a once-over.

All things considered, it’s a fair assessment, but then Dean just rinsed off the night’s sweat and slick. Anyone would feel marginally better. Cas pours the freshly pressed juice in two glasses, sliding one over to him. He also finally caved to Dean’s increasingly more snarly requests for pancakes, but with a twist. Tray bake gluten free pancakes with peanut butter and grape jelly.

Because apparently that’s Cas’ favorite sandwich. Not jam. Jelly.

Because _apparently_ he finds jam unsettling.

It’s so ridiculous to be privy to that little kernel of information about the man, Dean just rests his arms on the counter, fingers loosely wrapped around the glass, and waits for the pancakes to be done in quiet bemusement. For any length of time Dean can remain silent, that is.

“Only cause I’m glued to you half the time,” he says.

Instantly flusters, but he doesn’t shy away the way he would have at the start of all this. Nothing like the softening, if somewhat aggravating touch of biology at work to ease trauma and literally bring people closer together. In the span of four days, no less. Cas being paid for this is his cold shower reminder as to exactly what _this_ is. What he needs to filter all this through, so he doesn’t start believing...

“Happy to be of service,” Cas grins, while he puts on the oven mits. 

He bends over and Dean blinks a few times. Just cause he’s getting paid for it doesn’t mean Dean can’t enjoy the view. Eyes stuck on the curve of Cas’ ass, he hides in his glass, downing half of it in one go as soon as Cas turns towards him.

“Though I think it’s more than half the time,” Cas adds, while he sets the tray on the trivets.

The sticky scent of warm peanut butter, interspersed with the sweeter jelly fragrance billows up from the tray stuffed to the brim with one massive golden, cake-like, chonky pancake. Dean glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it. A tease. Truthful, but a tease. Sweet in its tone, a bit cocky in the stance of that eyebrow and the uptick of his mouth. He sniffs once and shrugs, going for magnanimous in the face of _all that_.

“I’ll let you get away with that, only because I’m starving and that smells and looks _divine._ "

Kinda like you.

But hush.

Cutting a more than generous slice, Cas serves him. Dean looks on, waiting long enough for Cas to put his own portion on his plate, before he digs in. Impossible to say whether it’s Cas’ scent, cooking or mere presence, but something unwinds within and eases up at being cared for.

He’s halfway through wolfing down his second slice, when he becomes aware of their feet touching under the table.

*

“This dialogue is terrible!” Under him, Cas winces and wedges a finger into his assaulted ear canal. “Oh, shit,” Dean whispers, nuzzling his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Now that is a _timely_ apology,” Cas smiles.

“You’re hilarious,” Dean says, making a face at him. “So do you wanna keep watching this or..”

He’s ridiculously comfortable on top of Cas. And the guy doesn’t seem to mind whenever Dean decides he’s going to serve as his personal mattress for the foreseeable future. Unless his Alpha instincts kick in and he has to provide something besides his warmth and scent. Even then, Cas remains efficient, perhaps even more so than at the start of his heat, and hasty at making his way back to Dean, whenever the pain returns. Because it isn’t miraculously gone. He’d have likely asked Cas to marry him, if that had happened. Still, this has been his most forgiving heat in a long time.

“That bad?”

“No. I guess not. Or we wouldn’t have been binge-watching this two nights in a row, but come on, you gotta admit that the stupid ball is bouncing _and_ their dialogue is stilted.”

Cas scrunches up his nose, while he squints at the screen. A mild shrug follows that jostles Dean lightly. “Probably. I may not be the best judge.”

“Why’s that?” he asks. He flattens his palm on Cas’ chest so he can shamelessly take his stunning profile in. Definitely lucked out there. Dean quickly schools his features to something he hopes resembles innocence, pursing his lips. Both he and Cas readjust, until their eyes focus on each other.

“My people skills are rusty,” he says, tone dubious, bordering on confused, “Or so I’ve been told.”

Pushing himself up, Dean frowns, a strange sound worming its way out. “What? Who the fuck told you that?”

“No one. Not recently anyway. My brothers when I was younger, but as I said, they’re about as reliable as a cheesecloth condom.”

His turn to jostle Cas, Dean barks a surprised laugh and collapses on his chest in a fit of giggles. It takes him a while to gather his parts and by the time he does, Cas’ eyes are sparkling beautifully. “What’s so funny?”

“Usually it’s a chocolate fireman or teapot, or something of the sort,” Dean snickers. “Of course you’d go for a cheesecloth condom.”

“See? Rusty.”

Dean tries to resist the urge to correct him. Succeeds verbally, but miserably, when both his face and his scent give him away. Cas shoots him that strangely indulgent frown and surprises them both when he cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, from his temple to that sensitive spot behind his ear.

It’s like playing music to a wild animal. 

If he were capable of shifting into a wolf, Dean’s ears would relax, his muscles unknot, and his tail would be lethally revealing as to his emotional state. There is no real point trying to hide the sudden strange feeling which erupts in his chest at the gentle affection that he’s bestowed. He’s forgotten the words that describe it.

He can’t read Cas, though his scent is doing something mightily interesting that has him relaxing further. Ducking his head, he settles his cheek on Cas’ chest, listening to the intimate sound of his heartbeat. Kinda fast. He’s not sure they’re still watching the show, but too comfortable to give any fucks. Somehow strangely all the more so when a new bout of pain hits and Cas is all over him to help soothe it, wrapping himself around Dean like his personal weighted blanket, his voice carrying nothing but the promise that things can and will get better, if he just trusts Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show they're watching is Timeless, which I enjoyed, but some of the dialogue and decisions... but ehn, there's a lot of stupid bouncing around in the world as such.
> 
> If all's well, I'm back? (Drafted this pre-surgery.)  
> I am back. Well. One more night at hospital. All went well, much smoother than expected, though the pain when moving... ugh. I'm fine as long as I lie still. Which isn't really my nature.  
> But I here. I live. I need to be swaddled like Dean. Srsly.  
> Cuddles. Gief!  
> Please?  
> Cuddles in return.  
> Love,  
> Mal


	7. “Yeah. Sure thing, Cas. Your guys do good work.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to hug Cas. So badly. Surely his scent must give that away, but then why isn’t Cas moving closer. Why is his finger still on the elevator button, even though he already pushed it? The time it takes that rickety thing to make its way up is plenty for another hug.
> 
> He inhales, snuffling for Cas’ scent, but the chemical barrier is back. Makes sense, but it’s like a punch to the gut, and it sends his own scent spiralling.
> 
> “Dean.”
> 
> “Yeah?” He winces at how tight his voice sounds.

Dean turns to his side, searchingly, a whining ache tilting along with his hips, but it’s somehow bearable. Muted. On instinct, Cas’ hands move towards and over his body with natural grace and ease. Dean stretches under them gingerly, curious if the Alpha always responds even in sleep, as he has the past nights.

He does, and, damn, if it doesn’t make Dean smile like an idjit. Cas crowds his space, a soothing rumble at Dean’s ear as he noses just behind it. He freezes for a perplexed moment when a sleepy, sticky-lips kiss is planted there. His eyes track the spotty ceiling, his chest heaving, and then he lets out a slow breath. A few high-pitched chuckles also make it out, because apparently some unexpected butterflies need to be set free.

Shit.

Last day impending, if he’s not mistaken. Which might be a bit sooner than usual. He’s not sure. Since he gave Cas more or less blanket permission to trust his nose and provide what’s needed whenever, Cas has been a constant. His only constant, because he’s pretty sure they both lost track of their phones after Sam checked in on day three. His brother teased the shit out of him the second he heard the give-away timbre in Dean’s voice, which he thinks he managed to hide from Cas.

Hovering close, somehow, always connected. Shoulder. Hip. Hand. Lips. Though not in the way Dean’s waking dreams in that veiled phase between actual sleep and wakefulness seem to suggest. Or how that teensie behind-the-ear kiss feels like a falling star he can wish upon.

Intimate all the same, when Cas presses his face to the back of Dean’s neck, breath warm, and his arms tighten around Dean. Or when his mouth meets his shoulder. When lips trace over Dean’s neck, while he’s scenting Cas to soothe himself. Dean has been waking up, sprawled all over Cas, like some touch-starved octopus or koala. During their waking hours, Cas has been in his personal space more often than not, anticipating Dean’s needs. It tends to take him by surprise, even throw him off a bit, but his knees go weak every time. So he mutely accepts it, because he needs to.

Less grumpy with each day, he now all but relishes the attention. Hopefully Cas’ scent lingers long beyond today. Maybe if he wraps one of his shirts or a sheet or a pillowcase in a ziploc bag and freezes it…?

_Hold up. Back it up._

Pursing his lips, he tries to wrap his head around that disturbing, little tangent. Fucking biology of this still catches him off guard and is clearly triggering the obsessive part in his brain. Sam tried to explain to him once that fully sidelining his Omega needs was a bad idea, but he never gave it much thought. His Omega needs, such as they are according to society, revolve around breeding and considering his particular issue, he is a useless breeder, so why bother to give those instincts the light of day?

Confronted with an Alpha like Cas, he’s starting to wonder about the other aspects of himself that have been neglected alongside it.

Cas’ breath puffs out against his spine intimately, and Dean squirms some more, closing every inch of distance between them with a sudden urgency. Because his chest constricts and his stomach plummets at the thought of Cas leaving. His scent will betray him, so there is no point being coy about it. Nor should he feel ashamed, because it is a common enough side effect between service workers and their clients. You can’t be this intimately close for days on end without suffering some form of bonding. And there wasn’t even any sex involved.

He wants to shove the thought away. Clench his teeth and pretend he doesn’t feel anything. That modus operandi got him this far without losing his sanity or getting hooked on some shitty Alpha. Kudos to him. But something soft uncoils within, his Omega urging him to bask in the light, for once, rather than hide in the dark.

With a soft whimper, he weaves his fingers through Cas’, acutely aware of where they’re resting and what that gesture usually means.

*

His heat broke somewhere before lunch. There’s a deep exhaustion, which permeates him to his bones, and an occasional lingering spike of pain, but Dean knows when the worst is behind him. It leaves him in that debatable state, where - on occasion - his libido dares to make its presence known, which, all things considered, he would really prefer to avoid this time around. With Lee and Nick, he can joke about it. He’s not sure he wants to be aware of Cas, _knowing_ that. Smelling arousal on him.

Or Dean figuring out what that does to Cas.

It’s been an intense enough week as it is. He guesses it’s good that it is coming to an end. Though he’s not sure why his stomach seems to be stuck in that unsettling, sinking sensation over and over.

“You okay?” Cas asks, eyes flicking to his not-empty plate.

He frantically nods his head and starts eating again. “Just distracted.”

Sniffing the air gently, Cas nods a few times, brightening visibly. “You’re coming out the other side, it seems.”

“Yeah…”

He looks across the small table to Cas, sensitive to everything. Light, scent, kind eyes that linger on his face too long. Dean isn’t sure when Cas started doing that little smile, where his eyebrows carry most of the soft emotion, his lips press together just a soft smidge, and Dean fails to find the words that describe him. The silence that falls has him mentally chasing his own tail, unsure if what he’s feeling is even his. That sad reluctance under his sternum is intense the way sticky heat on a high summer’s day can be. He breathes in, a few quick gulps of air, and sighs when Cas’ scent swaddles him reassuringly.

Still, and he’s dodging why this happens like a pro mole in a whack-a-mole game, neither he nor Cas push the matter further. As in, into the logical next step of parting ways. Instead they spend the afternoon on the couch, music playing while Cas reads and Dean rests his head in his lap, because he can. He delights in the feel of Cas' thigh under him and his fingers carding through Dean's hair.

They draw it out to dinnertime. Dean’s mouth is watering when Cas puts the giant pot on the table. “Holy shit, how many did you cook for?”

“I figured I’d leave you with enough leftovers to ease your week ahead.”

Dean bestows a smile on him, which he hopes conveys the gratitude he’s feeling at Cas’ efforts, extending well beyond the impending goodbyes.

*

“Umm…” 

Dean rocks back on his heels, suddenly awkward, which is so stupid, because while Cas was cooking, he scented him. Which is little over an hour ago. Maybe that _is_ why he’s feeling awkward, because it is like he let himself get carried away. It’s been too long with an Alpha to know for sure, but he knows his Omega got too much wiggle room. And at the same time, he’s so fucking grateful, he doesn’t know how to put that into words. Something stingy pricks behind his eyes and he’s panicking, because what the hell?

“You’re welcome."

That unique blend of badass kindness. He looks up and huffs at the odd, slightly off kilter wink Cas gives him.

He wants to hug Cas. So badly. Surely his scent must give that away, but then why isn’t Cas moving closer. Why is his finger still on the elevator button, even though he already pushed it? The time it takes that rickety thing to make its way up is plenty for another hug.

He inhales, snuffling for Cas’ scent, but the chemical barrier is back. Makes sense, but it’s like a punch to the gut, and it sends his own scent spiralling.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?” He winces at how tight his voice sounds.

“Please take care of yourself,” he says. “I mean, make sure you’re well taken care of. Now. And next time.”

Right. _Right._ Because Cas was a replacement. A one-off. Okay, so maybe Cas is a bit rusty? Dean’s not sure. Sounds like a hint to not call Cas again. He can’t tell and his mind’s swimming with too much of everything. 

“Yeah. Sure thing, Cas. Your guys do good work.”

What a fucking tool, he is. 

The elevator dings and Cas stiffens, rising to his full length. Dean’s heart jumps into his throat and he digs his claws into the door frame, outside Cas’ view. The doors creak open, casting Cas’ profile in the bright elevator light, his shadow falling long through the hallway behind him. He glances at Dean sideways with a smile, but not a trace of hesitation about him.

“Bye, Dean.”

He lifts his hand to echo the farewell, not sure he can trust his voice, and watches Cas vanish into the elevator. Out of his apartment building. His life.

“Dramatic Omega,” he grumbles, while he closes his front door and rests his forehead to it.

When he goes to bed that night, he discovers Cas remade the nest one more time. He’s powerless against the surge of emotions that elicits, while he rolls into the sheets. Everything smells like their combined scents and he burrows into them deeply, even if it makes him feel a bit too warm. Sleep comes easily and is completely pain free. Peaceful.

His dreams are another matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me why my boys are always such dumb fucks, okay? I don't actually have an answer... They just kinda turn out this way. *pats them* I do love them.
> 
> Semantics. 'Resting' means something else than I thought it meant. I had no idea. Currently more or less stuck to the bed and stuffing a sock in my anxiety chibi. 
> 
> Do you darlings have suggestions for books, series and/or movies? I have time.
> 
> I hope you and yours are well and that these two can entertain you for a bit.  
> Love,  
> Mal


	8. “I didn’t tuck anyone anywhere.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You sure you’re okay, Cassie? Jody said something about this guy being a special case… and you do have a tendency to tuck them under your wings.”
> 
> “I didn’t tuck anyone anywhere.” Alas. “I’m fine. Just tired,” he repeats, his voice tighter.

Castiel’s place feels chilly, although it’s well insulated and the weather’s been forgiving. Resisting the urge to turn on the heating, he keeps moving. Standing still, for some reason, makes him jumpy. But it’s late at night. He had dinner at Dean’s, drove off, went for an idle walk, where his feet carried him away from everything but his mind, and now, there’s nothing to do, except for the glaringly obvious. Shower. Bed.

Forget how Dean looked, standing in his doorway, while Castiel tried to pretend his scent wasn’t getting to him. Like he didn’t register the affection Dean craved, even when the distance he held belied that, and the response that provoked from his Alpha.

He senses it’s one of those ‘not a chance in heaven or hell are you catching any sleep’ nights. They are all too familiar and come in levels of intensity, often inversely proportional to how mentally exhausted he feels.

With a sigh, he wanders into the bathroom. He had a shower this morning. Alas, not with Dean, but close enough in terms of olfactory gratification. He leans one hand on the sink and untucks his tie with two fingers. Slow gestures, while he stares at the man in the mirror, trying to remember the last time he’s been this close to anyone for such an extended period of time. Physically, since his last rut and those are business transactions. He cocks an eyebrow at the irony, carried on a sound of disgust.

But scent-sharing… Like this? A lot longer. Every move he makes sends a stark reminder up from his very skin.

His gaze hesitantly skips to the shower. He should wash the week off. It makes sense. Also, per company policy, one of the more respectful aftercare steps. For himself and Dean. Cut the bond, so to speak. He mouths the words to himself. Shower. Bed. Catch up on sleep, because as much as he did nap alongside Dean, he’s definitely tired. So why doesn’t his body obey the thought? Shower. Bed. Sleep.

When his phone rings, the only thought that crosses his mind is that he can postpone washing off Dean’s scent a little longer. He picks up without looking who’s calling. He doesn’t need to.

“Cassie! You’re alive!”

“Hey, Gabe,” he says. “I see I missed a few calls.”

Putting his brother on speaker, he grimaces, while he peels off his shirt. For some reason, his muscles hurt. A wave of something dull and aching ripples from his shoulders to his upper back and down his spine. His joints throb unpleasantly. The worst of it settles at the base of his skull, a pulsing sound like boiling water.

“You noticed and you don’t call back?”

“One wonders why sometimes,” he mutters. “Gabe, I literally just got home.”

He rubs the fabric of the shirt between his fingers and brings it up to his nose. Flashes of Dean come with every soft inhale, his heart behaving like it’s caught in a downdraught. His face betrays nothing. Or he likes to think it doesn’t.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you the past four days. When Luci and I thought you finally cracked and gave into the lure of the physical again, we were joking, but lo’ and behold, when I called Jody, turns out that’s exactly what you’ve been doing! You old dog! I thought you were done _servicing_.”

Oh, how he regrets picking up.

“I was doing no such thing!” he grumbles, cheeks heating up. 

He drops the shirt in the hamper, only to immediately take it back out.

“I’m kidding,” Gabe snickers. “What’s got your tail in a twist?”

“Nothing,” he bites. “I am just… tired.”

“Heavy heat, huh?”

A surge of protectiveness has him borderline snarling. “Gabe, how many times do I have to tell you…”

“I know, I know,” Gabe huffs. “Don’t use your teacher voice on me. I’ve learned! Jeez.”

“If only. Is there a specific reason you’re calling me?”

“Yeah, we moved the family dinner to this weekend, and Lucifer asked if you still want to expand further? He may have a business offer.”

“With Luce himself? Because then, no, I’ll politely decline.”

“With associates of his.”

“I’m not sure that’s better.” He clicks his tongue. “Scratch that. I know it isn’t.”

“Come on, Cassie. He’s changed his ways.”

“Well aware. But that doesn’t mean his associates have.”

“I know these guys. They’re a starting service business. Very idealistic, like you once were. Kevin and Charlie. You’ll like them. They could use a boost and you’ve got the means to provide it.”

“Okay,” he says. “Of course. We’ll talk it through over dinner.”

“Great,” Gabe says, audibly pleased. “I’ll let him know, so he can bring the file.”

His brow knits together and he rubs his forehead, trying to ease some of the pressure. “Whose place is it again? I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“Yes,” he hums. 

Castiel’s memory is like a vault, most of the time.

“Nomes,” Gabe says, when he doesn’t offer any other answer. 

He smiles. Somehow, despite being a downright pain in the ass, his older sister managed to find herself a decent, if hellishly snarky husband in Crowley, and they have two adorable pups, Gavin and Juliet. He likes spending time at their place, running wild with the kids, because he’s the only adult who does so with a passion.

“You sure you’re okay, Cassie? Jody said something about this guy being a special case… and you do have a tendency to tuck them under your wings.”

“I didn’t tuck anyone anywhere.” Alas. “I’m fine. Just tired,” he repeats, his voice tighter.

“Uh-huh.”

Which is the kind of sibling ‘uh-huh’ that sets up his hackles, because he knows Gabe is going to involve the others, and they’re going to try and coax it out of him. But there’s nothing to coax. He got Dean through his heat. Never mind that he made a nest for the man. And that he’s in denial about that very fact. Or that he can still smell him, even when he isn’t shoving his nose into his own clothes to find the scent of warm apple pie on a cold winter’s day. Or that by the end of it, he imagined that maybe Dean was opening up to him. Not verbally, but through his scent.

He recalls the vision of Dean at the door, when he waited for the elevator. Hair on fluffy end, freckled cheeks pink, robe hanging off one shoulder, eyes bright, because the pain finally let up. Devastatingly beautiful when he smiles freely. Smelling relieved and grateful and something entirely different he can’t quantify, not even now, and it’s slipping out of his grasp. Exactly how it should be. Because he also caught the sadness in Dean, which sent a misplaced sense of hope ricocheting through him. He smelled the request for a last touch on Dean. But he couldn’t… not without risking giving away more than he potentially already had.

He did what he went there to do. Dean’s fine. He can go back to his regular Betas. Who, no, he didn’t look up in the database at all.

Dean’s okay. 

Which should be enough.

He tries not to look too closely at his own thought processes. It’s simply his age and the stark contrast with his empty home that’s catching up to him. Perhaps he ought to try dating again, but the mere concept baffles, confuses and tires him out in equal measure.

Gabe clears his throat delicately. “Which is why you’re clearly running in circles in your head, while we’re still on the phone. You bet you’re fine.”

“I need a shower. Take care, Gabe. I’ll see you this weekend.”


	9. “I did no swooping whatsoever."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Speaking of busy, Dean called.”
> 
> Surely he’s hearing that wrong, his heart going into immediate overdrive. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recovery's going decent. Stitches out and stuff's healing. The fatigue was no lie, but I'm keepin' busy. Such as setting up [shop](https://www.redbubble.com/people/starsailormal12/shop?asc=u)  
> on RedBubble. 
> 
> Seeing as the future is looking very uncertain and a bit scary, I figured I'd do what I can. If you want to take a peek and be so kind to share it in your circles, I'd be ever grateful.
> 
> What is everyone up to?
> 
> Love to you and yours,  
> As ever,  
> Mal

Professional business man, his angelic namesake’s left ass cheek.

That pretty much sums up his level of awareness during the successful meeting he’s walking out of, no thanks to his own absent-minded ass. He owes Lucifer, which is always a crappy position to be in. 

He’s never been so distracted in his damned life and he’s not self-delusional enough to pretend he doesn’t know why. Of course not. Instead his brain unhelpfully provided him with a crystal-clear impression of Dean’s scent and an almost HD rendition of, well, all of him during the meeting. Like a glorious filter thrown over his reality, parading Dean around before his mind’s eye in his soft robes, fluffy hair askew.

Dean’s attractiveness is downright criminal. Castiel has trouble wrapping his head around it. To say that he was blown away by the beauty of Dean the second he laid eyes on him would be a grievous understatement, even if Dean had been sprawled out on the kitchen floor and in clear pain.

To pretend it was just about Dean’s looks would be another mistake, but then he’d never been one for cheap or shallow connections. Unsettling. Very unsettling. There are only so many lies he can tell himself and that has never been his style. Not always the easiest way to live, but certainly the most honest one. As in, honest to himself. He’ll still lie like a rug to his siblings and everyone else, if it means safeguarding himself and his sanity.

“So,” Lucifer smirks, clearing his throat meaningfully. “Who’s got you so distracted? That Omega you swooped in to save?”

Yeah, family dinner at Naomi’s was a blast.

“I did no swooping whatsoever,” he grumbles.

Never mind that it’s an exact echo of Dean’s own words.

Lucifer doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t need to. There’s that familiar unpleasantly knowing glint in his older brother’s eyes, that Castiel can do without. Theirs is a sometimes strained dynamic, including a falling out years ago when Lucifer landed himself in jail, which - in the end - gave them both newfound respect for each other and cemented a few boundaries.

“So what’s he like?”

“Hmm?” he asks, surprised at the tone, which implies genuine interest.

“What’s he like, this Omega? You haven’t done any of that in a while, and dated even less.”

“I’ve only seen him for a week and most of that time, he was completely miserable.”

Lucifer flashes him the smile he once considered cruel. Now it merely has him rolling his eyes.

“Not like _that_ ,” he grunts. “God, between you and Gabe, it’s almost impossible to have a conversation about my job without double entendres.”

“You picked a career in service work, baby brother. And you’re stalling, which is a sure sign…”

“He’s very charming,” Castiel finds himself admitting, unsure why he’s doing so. Unwise. “Unfairly handsome. And a mouth on him. Has a younger brother he’s excessively proud of. Lots of books. Foodie. Bit of a mucky pup.”

He cuts himself off before he can add ‘cuddler’ or worse. Lucifer’s dark chuckle pulls an echoing, fonder one from him. 

“Sounds like a dream,” Lucifer says, revealing his canines. “So when’s his next heat?”

Castiel squints. “I don’t know.”

A blatant lie, he realizes, when it hits him with complete certainty that Dean’s heat was this weekend. While he wasn’t there. He frowns, swallowing hard, his mouth suddenly dry and extremities restless.

The realization that he _knows_ is an uncomfortable one for various reasons. For starters, it’s a bit creepy that he kept track, even if subconsciously. Secondly, a dark swirl of want churns in the pit of his being, his Alpha anything but thrilled at the thought of Dean, suffering through his heat without Castiel. _With_ someone else. He can check who.

He shakes his head, slicing the air with his hand as if chasing annoying gnats, which draws Lucifer’s scrutinizing gaze to him, and he realizes he missed part of the conversation.

“So are you?”

“Am I what?”

Lucifer’s eyebrows quirk and he grabs Castiel by the shoulder, bringing him to a reluctant halt. “So distracted, Cassie. It’s unlike you. I asked if you’re going to continue doing the field work?”

“I… I’m not sure. I haven’t since then, but that’s because we generally have it covered. Exceptional circumstances made me step in.”

“Well, if you do, make sure you’ve got all your other bases covered. There’s no point in making a deal to expand, if you can’t follow through.”

“Ahh, there you are.”

“Who?”

“The opportunist, who worries his kin’s behaviour may reflect poorly on him,” Castiel smirks. “I was wondering when that one was going to kick in.”

“Pragmatist,” Lucifer says. “And you’ll thank me for the foresight.”

Castiel grins, shoving his shoulder into Lucifer’s. “Cool it, hothead. I’m sure I will. And Gabe was right.”

“Ugh. I hate it when you say that. Right how?”

“I like those kids. They deserve the help, which means there’s hope for you yet.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Glad to hear it.”

“How much time before our flight back?”

Flicking his wrist, Lucifer checks the time. “We should probably get moving, if we want to get some food in us at the airport.”

*

He passes by Dean’s place on his way to _Brush_. Accidental. The light’s on and, carried on a few intense heart palpitations, he wonders if he’s alone. If he’s in pain. Shaking his head, he focuses on driving, before he steers his Continental off the road. Or towards Dean’s apartment building.

It’s almost closing time, but he wants to check in with Jody. Perhaps anchor himself back where he belongs, even if he’s been out of step for a while. When he walks inside, he passes Hannah, Gadreel and Nick. Nick’s laughter rings loud in his ears and he finds himself observing the Beta closer, in search of something he can’t identify.

Until he realizes he’s sniffing for Dean’s scent and immediately clamps down on that. Viciously so, because holy invasion of everyone’s privacy, Novak. Hannah calls his name and he works his way through some small talk with relative ease, because it’s in his nature when it comes to these people. He has to fight the urge to ask Nick about Dean.

“Take care of yourselves,” he smiles.

“Our night off,” Nick winks. “We should be alright.”

He laughs. “Then take care of that hangover tomorrow.”

“You take care too, boss,” Hannah says.

He waves at them, while he makes his way inside and up to their floor. Once there, he all but stumbles into Jody, who comes barging out of the kitchen, clearly in fifth gear.

“Castiel!”

She smiles and pulls him into a hug, even while they collide. When he leans into it more than usual, she cups his face between her hands for a moment, her dark eyes softening.

“How did it go?”

“A done deal, with your signature,” he smiles. “I believe we will be a good match. How are you?”

Jody grins and gestures for them to fall into step. They make a last round of the office, closing windows, double-checking computers, killing lights and locking doors. “Oh, you know, the usual. It was a busy weekend. I believe our last marketing campaign is paying off, though we may need to do an analysis to confirm.”

“Good idea.”

The scent of _Brush_ calms him. Crisp lime from the cleaning crew’s recent presence. Lingering slivers of perfumes and cologne. A permanent trace of warm lunches, coffee and chewing gum. And then that somewhat typical office scent, he has trouble describing even after all these years: something moist and mildly stuffy, offset by the plants they keep around.

They lock up the front door and step into the night. It’s still busy, the neighbourhood a bristling one, full of restaurants, bars, shops, and the occasional club. A different kind of fragrance dances around them. He coughs at the body odor when they squeeze through a tight group of people, outside the karaoke bar, his ears straining at the loud music.

“Speaking of busy, Dean called.”

Surely he’s hearing that wrong, his heart going into immediate overdrive. “What?”

Jody grabs his hand, when they’re almost split up, and pulls him onto the street, away from the crowd.

“Dean!” she yells. “He asked for you.”

“What?” he echoes, voice shaking.

“Did you go deaf somehow? I said…”

“No, sorry,” he says. “I heard you. I just… What for?”

Jody’s shoulders slump and she narrows one eye at him. “What happened to you on that trip, young man?” Never mind that he’s older than her. His proverbial fur standing on end, he gestures at her, because shit, yes, he gets it, but she’s on a roll. “We are a heat and rut service. What do you think he called for? His heat. He wanted you.”

Oof, he closes his eyes against those words. Bites down on his lower lip hard enough to leave marks, because his gut instinct wants to demand why she didn’t call him.

Dean… asked for him.

“Want to go grab some grub?” she asks. “You look like you can use the company. And I want to know who we’re getting in bed with. So to speak.”

He squints at her, when she clears her throat innocently, because there is no way his face or, depending on how worn out his blockers are, his scent doesn’t give him away. That and Jody usually likes to get home to Donna and her kids. So this offer is about as innocent as Gabe grinning around his popsicle.

“I know the deontological code,” he grumbles. “There’s no need to take me out for dinner and chew me out.”

“Huh?” Jody scrunches up her nose. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m aware you just caught on.”

“I did? I mean, sure, I caught something,” she admits, when he glares. “But I catch stuff around the office all day long. We don’t pry, unless it’s problematic.” She catches his gaze. “Is it? … Problematic?”

Pursing his lips, he shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. “I’m just sorry I wasn’t around to help him.”

“Oh, Castiel, you big bleeding heart. Then just… be around for the next one. Maybe he’ll ask again. He sounded…”

She hesitates and the words slip out against his will and better judgement, a sense of urgency bleeding through.

“What? Was he okay?”

“Yes, his heat hadn’t hit yet. He called ahead of time.”

Not really helping.

“Come on. Decent food. Decent company. Bring me up to speed and unwind a bit after.”

He wants to tell her he’s fine and doesn’t need to unwind, but that seems futile. Jody is a force to be reckoned with when she’s _not_ on a mission and he’s given her ample reason to be on one.


	10. “He helps Alphas too?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean opens his front door to find Lee, duffel slung over his shoulder, grinning at him from ear to ear. 
> 
> “Yeah, uh-huh, I see how it is,” he says, the second their eyes meet.
> 
> “What?” Dean splutters. “Fuck you. I haven’t said anything.”

“ _Brush_ , heat and rut service. How may we help you?”

“Hey, Jodes.” 

“Dean! Good afternoon. How are you?”

“So far, so good,” he says.

He falters, fiddling with the rubber band he peeled off the roll of baking sheets. For some reason, counterintuitive to his usual approach, he didn’t think this through and he prefers to believe, in that childish, stubborn ‘Santa is real’ kind of way, it has nothing to do with _him_.

But it does. And, uhh, Sam’s to blame for planting that stellar idea when they last saw each other and he needled more information out of Dean. His brother is shameless sometimes. Downright scented some part of what Sam believes is ‘the truth’ off of Dean. Scully’s got nothing on Sam.

Apparently, Dean sounds different. Better.

Bullshit.

“Okay… That’s good.” The sound of typing. “We’ve got two of your regulars available… Is the app acting up?”

It’s a subtle, roundabout way to ask the real question. Which is _why_ is Dean calling in the first place? Because the system is semi-automated, once you’re a regular. All he has to do is open the app, scroll through to the available service workers, and click to confirm. They’ll show up at the time he indicates or ASAP, depending on urgency. There’s room to add notes, in case of specifics, and he can adjust his preferences any time. The app has never failed so far.

There is no reason to call.

Except…

“No. Not at all. I, uhh, I know. I saw.”

“Is there something else...?”

“No! No, I’m okay. I mean, it hasn’t hit yet. But I wanted to call…”

“Alright. I’m listening,” she says, because bless her, she senses it.

His heartbeat is audible in his ears, blood pumping faster. For a moment, his vision whites out, while he forms the words. “Is Cas… available?”

A professional through and through, Jody still lets out a strange sound he has trouble interpreting, before continuing. It triggers a fair amount of guilt on Dean’s end for even contemplating that he can try this. That he can expect Cas to waste more time on him than he already has. It was an emergency last time.

“Ahh, sh… I mean.” She sighs. “He’s on a business trip.”

She sounds genuinely sorry, but that doesn’t help, because all of a sudden he’s stuttering around a bunch of sounds that don’t even come close to decent, full sentences. All of them along the lines of ‘sorry’, ‘I had no right’, ‘forget it’. They’re shards of them, masking what’s trying to pummel its way out of his chest. He almost hangs up, but knows she’ll call back if he gives into that possum reflex.

“Dean, I’m sorry. Do you want me to loo…”

“No! Don’t, please don’t. That’s fine. I’ll get Lee. We get along well,” he says, hating how small he sounds.

She echoes some of Dean’s odd sounds, as if she’s as confused as he feels, but it’s short-lived and he’d like to stop making a fool of himself, even if it is over the phone to a woman he’s never seen before.

“Sorry to disturb you, Jody.”

“Never,” she says. “Please don’t think that. You know we’re here to help, so don’t ever hesitate. I hope Lee can help you through.”

“He always does.”

It’s true. Lee always has. Except that was when he’d more or less forgotten what an Alpha, a decent Alpha, could mean. And he hates that he’s allowing it space, because it’s terrifying. He trips up in his own mind, reeling back from the ill-conceived potential. Maybe it’s for the best.

It was only one week. Pure luck.

“But,” she adds, voice softer. “I’m glad Castiel was able to help you. Try again next time, if you’d still like to.”

*

Dean opens his front door to find Lee, duffel slung over his shoulder, grinning at him from ear to ear. 

“Yeah, uh-huh, I see how it is,” he says, the second their eyes meet.

“What?” Dean splutters. “Fuck you. I haven’t said anything.”

“No shit. You also didn’t call, man. I thought something happened to you.”

“I…,” he protests, “I didn’t! Shit! But dude, that’s because you weren’t in. My heat hit early, so I called Jody, when you weren’t available in the app. Neither was Nick. Like I’m gonna call either of you when you’re probably in the middle of…” Lee smirks lopsidedly, so Dean just barrels on. “And then I somehow landed Cas in my place and, fuck, I forgot what it was like…”

“Cas?” Lee asks, as he steps inside. “Who’s Cas?”

He hesitates. “... Don’t you all know each other?”

Lee’s nose quirks up on one end, nostril quivering, as if he’s smelling something funny. “Well, no, but if we move in similar circles around similar clients, we usually are aware. What happened last time really shouldn’t have, but we’re short on trained people like us. Is he a new guy?”

Dean chuckles, rubbing his nose idly. “Somehow I doubt he’s new… And he’s an Alpha.”

“An Alpha! How did that go?”

“I’m still alive,” Dean says, giving a casual shrug. Which instantly feels hella unfair to Cas and he stumbles. “Nah, he was… uhh, extremely kind.”

And warm. And gentle. Just the right side of sassy. Scent like heaven. And also kinda sex on two legs, but entirely besides the point. A lump in his throat prevents him from expanding on that entirely insufficient description of how that went, which is just as well. He doesn’t need to make a fool of himself to Lee too, nor does he need Lee to potentially go blabbing at _Brush_. One of Cas’ employees in the know that Dean called for him like some desperate bitch would do.

“Cas,” Lee murmurs. “Name sounds familiar. Why does it sound familiar?” With a shake of his head, he seemingly dismisses it and regards Dean intently. “How are you feeling?”

“Already under three painkillers and they aren’t really doing much. Spawn of Satan, this month, clearly.”

“Another one.” Lee shakes his head, but he gestures firmly at Dean. “Then park your ass on the couch. Get as comfy as you can. I’ll get to work.”

Lee chatters, while he moves through his apartment: checks the fridge, the laundry, starts a load and gets to cooking. Dean sighs and does as he’s told, though the hot water bottle at his lower back is pushing into his muscles unpleasantly. The feel and heat of it is all wrong and he’s squirming, trying not to think of Cas’ firm, yet somehow soft body behind him. Maybe his thoughts are on the air or his scent betrays him. Either way, Lee lets out a sudden ‘aha!’ sound.

“Wait! Cas?! As in Castiel, owner of the company, my boss, Cas?!” So very helpful, that. “You call him Cas?”

“Uhh, yeah,” he says, throwing his arm over his face. He can feel Lee’s eyes on him without looking, but peeks anyway. “What?”

“ _Uhh_ , indeed. He’s handsome for starters. Intelligent. And stupidly kind. Single too.” Dean glares at him, which only makes Lee grin wider, like the little shit that he is. He waves the spoon around as if he’s at Hogwarts. “And extremely retired, as far as we know. Too busy running the company, expanding it, making sure we don’t lose sight of what matters.”

“Really?” Dean asks, hiding again with a soft groan. “And what is it that really matters?”

“You.”

Fucking awesome. “Dude…”

“I mean, people like you. He’s fighting hard to make the general populace understand we’re not just a provider of sex services. To broaden the spectrum of needs and wants, especially for Omegas, but also for Alphas.”

“Also quoting from the pamphlet,” Dean says, but he smiles, unable to help himself. “He helps Alphas too?”

“Kinda like you and a fair percentage of our clients, not all Alphas need the same thing, when they go into their ruts.”

A vague memory of something Cas said tugs at him. To squish the slightly terrifying black hole that’s opening up under his sternum, he scoffs dismissively.

“So you guys go on retreats and shit?”

“You can be such a dick.”

He chuckles, ignoring the pain emanating out to his abdomen and lower back, insta-sticky sweat in its wake. “I’m right, ain’t I?”

“We get educated,” Lee laughs. “Classes, courses. He does lectures, trying to, and I quote, ‘kick some sense into people’.”

Dean believes it for mere moments, air quotes included, his heart tumbling in his chest like a squirrel high on peanut butter, before his doubt quivers through him. The mere existence of Cas shouldn’t please him as much as it does, though there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a kind soul when coming across one on this earth, right? It sure as hell, however, shouldn’t make him wish Cas was here. To prove that point. Because he wants to believe, even if he isn’t sure what exactly he wants to believe in.

Instead, he gets a fresh wave of pain and he’s forced to focus on his body. Riding it out. Again. Lee abandons cooking to cuddle up with him. Thankfully, the teasing sparkle in his eyes softens, replaced with the kind of empathy that seems to be a prerequisite to be allowed to work at _Brush_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet our darling Lee! These two have been friends for a good two years now.
> 
> A very rough week mentally, but pulling through finally, it seems, which merits a chapter, I should think.
> 
> Hope y'all are doin' well. Hugs to you.  
> Mal


	11. “Maybe there’s something about my boss.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s worse, right?”
> 
> He shrugs, reaching for the pills on the nightstand. Lee’s quick to hand him the bottle of water and Dean swallows down three of them.

Lee is holding him close, Dean trembling to pieces in his arms. He’s caressing Dean’s back, muttering sweetly to his temple.

“Holy shit, Dean,” he hisses, while he puts the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead. “You’re burning up. Why is it so bad?”

“Mmmh,” he groans, nosing into Lee’s chest. He smells… not wrong, but… not enough. Neutral. Like soap and laundry detergent; homey and pleasant, but doesn’t make him wanna roll around like it’s catnip. It’s a cruel thought, considering how well Lee cares for him. Dean’s throat hurts when he speaks, like he’s in a vacuum and can’t breathe decently. “Lucky, I guess.”

He’s been going in and out of a vague semi-consciousness, unsure of what he’s been babbling at Lee in the process.

“Let me get you something for the fever.”

Nodding, he makes himself as small as he can, curling into a fetal position in the warm spot Lee leaves behind. Lee rummages around in the bathroom, talking to him while he does, but Dean doesn’t hear the words. The timbre makes it through well enough, but his stomach is turning. There’s that horizon-tilting moment of pure nausea and dizziness, where he partly loses control over his body. He scrambles off the couch, legs shaking, trying to make his mouth form the three simple letters that make up Lee’s name. He doubts it works, but whatever sound he does produce has Lee hurrying to him and helping him to the bathroom. Just in time for him to puke his guts out into the tub.

“Christ, Dee,” Lee mutters.

He runs the water, while Dean lets out a long, miserable groan. “Ohhh, fuck me, I hate this…” 

Hanging his head, he closes his eyes, waiting for the next wave. It takes a few minutes, but a second wave fails to happen. Dean sighs in relief and pushes himself up, but too fast because all of a sudden the world is tilting on its axis, or wait, no, it’s _him_ , and his world goes black.

*

When he wakes up, he’s in his pitchblack bedroom, tucked warmly against Lee, covered in blankets. The setup is dripping with coziness and borderline nesting tendencies, which he’s now worried he mentioned to Lee in his fever fits.

“Hey there,” Lee says softly.

“Mmmhi.” He squirms around until he can rub his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Three in the morning. Give or take.”

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“You’ve been very restless.”

“Sorry.”

“Hush,” Lee grunts, sounding a lot like Cas, if less polite about it. Maybe it’s part of their learning curve. To _hush_ the clients, who feel they need to apologize for being miserable. “How are you feeling?”

His eyes sting and feel small, like he could do with more than the twelve hours he just slept in one go. As far as he remembers anyway, regardless of how restless he was. “My head feels like cotton balls.”

“Let’s get some fluids into you. You think you can manage?” 

He nods and they both sit up, Lee arranging some pillows behind him, before he hands him a can of soda. The prickly liquid makes his eyes water and provides a sudden head rush. 

“Ho, shit,” he wheezes. “But that’s good.”

“Okay, good. Got some food for you too, if you want.”

“Pie?”

“Muffin.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Dude,” Lee snorts through a yawn and a chuckle. “It’d suit you.”

“Are you insulting me?”

“Just eat the damn muffin, Dean. It’s peanut butter and jelly.”

He falls quiet at the memory that triggers and chews the pastry slowly. Lee is tired. He can tell by the way he almost nods off, but forces himself to stay awake.

“How’s the pain?”

“Might need to take some more painkillers preventively, if I don’t want to wake you any more than I’ve already done.”

“It’s worse, right?”

He shrugs, reaching for the pills on the nightstand. Lee’s quick to hand him the bottle of water and Dean swallows down three of them.

“Dean?”

With an annoyed grumble, he settles back down with Lee. “I guess.”

“I know so.”

“Spawn of Satan, I told you.”

On a huge yawn, Lee pulls him closer. “Maybe there’s something about my boss.”

“Shut up. Let’s get some more sleep.”

Lee’s quick to fall asleep and maybe come morning, he’ll have forgotten what he said. Dean can’t shake the feeling that the remark might hold water. Because he’d be hard-pressed and delusional to deny he’s doing worse. Always a bit of a slippery slope to define pain on a scale, especially a miserable one such as his. Thing is, he’s had some _shitty_ heats. Puking, fainting, agony, the works. Hell, he’s been hospitalized a few times, until the medical experts deemed it within the acceptable parameters and sent him home. He’s grown used to it to an extent, or he wouldn’t be able to forget the worst of it each time.

Right now? He would like to deny it. He _really_ would.

Because if he could, it would mean Cas’ impact was a one-off.

But the truth is, he can’t fully dismiss the idea that Cas made more of a fundamental difference than he wants to admit.

And it scares him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muffins! (Yes, you lot.)
> 
> I can't sleep. Too warm and brain is doing things.
> 
> How would people feel if randomly start doing some art for my fics? I'm slow with art, mind, writing comes easier. Backgrounds are also.. a process. Everything is. (I started a separate IG for SPN fanart.)
> 
> While I'm awake and I should be sleeping, have an extra chapter!
> 
> Hugs,  
> A sleepy but decidedly not sleeping Mal  
> <3


	12. “I’m needed.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A knock at the door and Jody pokes her head in, looking for all the world like she’s actually beaming.
> 
> “Castiel, a call came in for you.”
> 
> “Is it urgent?”
> 
> “You could say that,” she says on a shit-eating grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with fanart!

They’ve been screening _everyone_ at Brush. Ensuring they’re the right fit and subscribe to the company’s founding principles.

Castiel pitched the idea during dinner with Jody a good four weeks ago, because as trivial as Dean had made it sound, he abhors the thought that anyone on their payroll might be capable of disrespecting boundaries or hurting one of their clients.

Jody rightfully brought up their office personnel, because they are in many ways their first line of defence. The first ones to make contact, when people call in, either through the app or over the phone. They hear the story, listening for the needs and wants, and, more importantly, for everything between the lines, every unspoken thread of their story they’re too shy about, scared or, in some cases, unaware of. The process is equal parts intuition and training. Gut instincts are a good guideline, but it takes more to correctly assess a situation.

“Pleased with the progress?” 

He scrolls through the personnel files and nods. “Reasonably.”

“Reasonably? Castiel, we double-checked all our personnel, fired those who weren’t up to our standards and hired several new ones, who fit the profile.”

“I… Yes, I know. It’s a lot.”

“It’s more than reasonable. It’s good work.”

He hums quick agreement, focus already skipping ahead to the next step, and opens up their shared calendar. “I also lined up a few appointments with medical experts: two gynecologists and one neurologist.”

“Right! I’ve been meaning to ask. What sparked that interest? So far our focus was mainly service work and mental health…”

“It seems a logical next step to understand certain needs.”

“Like Dean’s?”

He grumbles noncommittally. “This is why I ought to be doing this work more. Because, yes, Dean can’t be the only one, suffering like this. And regardless of how many tools he has, none of which suffice in the face of what he has to go through, I feel I can do more if I understand it better.”

“It being?”

“His particular underlying condition. An Omega’s body. How they function, what contraception does to them, which common ailments they have that aren’t really that common or easy to deal with.”

“Fair,” she nods. “How did you find the experts?”

“One I found through Charlie. She has some issues of her own and was all too eager for us to dig into this. The second one I chose based on their articles I found online. Third is your recommendation you mentioned over dinner.”

He wants to contact Dean and ask if he has any gynecologists he’d consider trustworthy, but hasn’t come up with sufficiently credible, non-stalkery lines in his head to even consider picking up a phone.

“We’re both clear for those meetings, yes?”

“Yes, two this week, one next week. Charlie’s joining for one of them. Her schedule was too full otherwise.”

Jody nods, frowning, and sighs. “In the very end, it’s still part biology,” she says. “Don’t give me that look. Part of it will always remain biology.”

He shies away from the thought, because as helpful as his scent was for Dean, everything else prompted by his instincts feels wrong. “And the other part is education.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re leaving out some of the magic too, at this rate. Even for you, you’ve been a touch…”

He winces. The word ‘obsessive’ springs to his own mind, but that’s because he has laser focus and this _matters_.

“I think you’re thinking of a different part of our biology,” he says. “Which has nothing to do with Dean’s predicament. Or people like him.”

Maybe he ought to pepper in Dean’s name less instead of more often.

“Right,” Jody says, leaning closer. “When’s the last time you relaxed?”

Well, he’s not going to answer that one. 

Much like he’s not going to zero in on his workaholic running the show and shifting his life into sixth gear over the past few weeks. Always having been prone to it, this time around he’s pushing it, even to his own tastes. Never mind that some part of him, the supposedly clever part, is aware that it’s nothing but an overcompensating distraction from what an older instinct wants him to face.

Knowing you’re lonely and being pressed into it, nose-first, like a badly behaved pup, are two very different matters. And ever since spending Dean’s heat with him… One measly week was all it took to have him playing not just one, but two games of chicken.

*

He’s in a meeting with Balthazar and a few shareholders; some in person, some over Skype business, which as far as he’s concerned is a shitty system. Registering the numbers, while somehow hopelessly distracted, frustrated, bored out of his skull and forcing himself to ignore his awareness of Dean’s impending heat all at once.

A knock at the door and Jody pokes her head in, looking for all the world like she’s actually beaming.

“Castiel, a call came in for you.”

“Is it urgent?”

“You could say that,” she says on a shit-eating grin.

His brain lights up and the pen he’s been fiddling with drops from his hand, clattering across the table surface. Fuck conscious decisions. His instinct pulls him to his feet, before he chooses to do so, beseeching Jody mutely.

“Yeah,” she nods. “It’s him. So are you going to…?”

“Yes. I’ve got to go, Bal.”

“Cassie, you can’t just…”

“I’m needed.”

Balthazar’s eyebrows rise indulgently, wrinkling up his forehead, and the smirk that grows with it promises Castiel is in hot water the next time they go out for dinner. In any other circumstance, he’d have made it infinitely awkward for Castiel. As it stands, he gives a curt nod, eyes alight.

Even while he bails on Bal, guilt gnaws at him for various reasons. Jody’s searching gaze doesn’t help, but he’s hidden behind a chemical wall, so at least only his own mind is truly in the know. His enthusiasm is out of place. The fact that he has a duffel with his stuff, packed and ready to go, in the back of his car only confirms that, but it’s convenient and puts him on his way to Dean faster. It's been there ever since he found out Dean called for him during his last heat.

Dean asks for him out of trust. A trust which is clearly misplaced. He repeats it as a mantra all the way there. Dean is a client. A client with specific needs, who feels safe with him. He has no right to betray that faith. He’s muttering the words, while he closes the car door and hums to himself nervously on the way up in the elevator.

His Alpha, however, is rumbling with approval. Which is fine. It’s instinct. One of the many maxims he founded his courses on. Instinctual responses are not a failure, he reminds himself. In fact, his urge to protect Dean is what makes him the right man for the job, as long as he is in control. So the way he handles his instincts says more about him than the actual instinct. He is more than his secondary gender. He goes over the lesson material in his head, wondering if his loneliness is turning him into one of his own worst nightmares.

Until he all but howls, the second Dean opens the door and their eyes lock. He registers the tinged cheeks and the adorable hair. Other robe. A faded band shirt.

Castiel shifts his weight to his left foot to scratch at his calf with his other foot. He consciously doesn’t inhale too sharply. Gives Dean a smile he hopes is as reassuring as he means it.

“I… I came as soon as I could.”

“Cas, I only called about half an hour ago.”

“Yes, but I was in a meeting and…”

“You stepped out of a meeting for me… For this?”

Dean’s audible confusion is met with his own and he frowns. “Of course, Dean. I’ll always come when you call.”

Though the blood drains from his face at the admission, the wave of relief and gratitude that comes off Dean and crashes into him has him swaying on his feet. The heavy scent of fresh apple pie, cooling on the window sill in spring doesn’t lie. Neither does Dean’s face when he lights up like the star at the center of their own little universe.

As hard as it is to believe, it feels genuine. Castiel almost stumbles through the door, back into Dean’s personal space. He’s sure he smells about as professional as a park ranger gleefully setting a forest fire.

But Dean called for him and he gets to be here once more.


	13. “I teach pups in primary. That was the idea anyway.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve been wondering…” Tentatively spoken, it sounds like he half expects Dean to be asleep. So he lets out a deep hum to signal he isn’t. “What do you do for a living?”
> 
> Breathing shallow, a smile breaks through. Memories flood him at the innocuous question. 
> 
> “Teacher,” he mutters. “I teach pups in primary. That was the idea anyway.” The silence that follows begs him to fill it, which, to his own surprise, he does, his timbre low and lazy. “It gave me time to take on a second job to help Sam. And they’re cute.”

Stowing the intense relief he experienced upon Cas’ arrival for future analysis, Dean’s convinced his mind has reset to when he was a teenager. And he had more game back then than he has now. Clearly. Because Cas… Even though he seemed a bit ruffled when he almost tripped himself inside, he returned to his efficient self as if he flipped a cassette to its B-side. He is so freakishly focused on caring for him, Dean wonders if he got over his initial attraction, and god-fucking-damnit, he’s still wearing blockers.

A sweet laugh breaks through his frustrated, whiny inner monologue. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’ll deal with that after I finish the food. Just… relax.”

Cas extinguishes the glaring ceiling lamp and turns on the one on the side table and in the kitchen. It limits the amount of light, but is an instant relief to Dean’s eyes. It is also, he has to admit, cosy, even in his dingy apartment. Their eyes adjust easily enough.

Wiggling his nose at the chemicals, he parks himself at the kitchen table. He pulls the blanket around him, though it’s warming up outside. Soon it’ll hit the stage where the hot water bottle and blankets are a no go.

“How’ve you been?”

“It’s okay. My last heat…” He shrugs. “Seemed worse, I think. Lee said so anyway.”

Lee, who he called to check how insulted he would feel if Dean went with Cas again. Lee, who then promptly told Dean he'd be nuts if he didn't and gave him his personal number so they could go grab a drink together and hustle some pool. Cause that's just the kinda guy he is.

His heart skips a few beats at the admission, when Cas doesn’t give anything away.

“I meant in general, but -" His gaze tracks over Dean. "I’m sorry to hear that. What do you need between now and bedtime?”

He purses his lips to keep a very stupid answer from making its way out. “I took my painkillers. I’d… I’d like warmth. On the couch. And, I dunno, talk to me.”

_Your scent._ He’s sure his own betrays him, judging by the way Cas’ lips twitch into a soft smile. Dean, who has given up on not taking in the sight of those wide shoulders, moving under the fabric of a shirt that’s a smidge too big for him. Much like the trench. Maybe someone else does his shopping for him? Though Lee did say he’s single.

“About?”

“Anything. Distract me.”

_Let me hear your voice,_ but he’s not going to admit that out loud. Instead he follows the movement of Cas’ hands and arms, while he cooks Dean dinner. A coconut-based dish, from the looks of it. Drops his eyes to his ass and thighs, teeth sinking into his lower lip, because he knows there’s so much fun to be had there, if only...

“In that case, allow me to apologize for not being available last time. Jody mentioned you called in, but I was on a business trip.”

“You were?” he asks, voice breaking, because, of course, Jody told, so fuck his focus and his life. “How did it go?”

“Good,” and there’s something there, in Cas’ lilting voice, that makes Dean's nose twitch with curiosity. “We found new partners for _Brush_.”

“You’re expanding?”

“That’s the idea. Spread it as far as we can with the best people. Kinda like Pride.”

Dean laughs. “Huh, Lee wasn’t joking.”

“Lee shouldn’t be joking,” Cas says. For a moment, Dean’s worried that he somehow said something to get Lee in trouble. An old reflex. One he has a few people to thank for. “He’s one of our best.”

Dean sighs and props his elbows up, resting his face in his hands. “I’m glad your business is going well. If it wasn’t for _Brush_ , I’d, uhh, I’d have given up.”

A sharp, measured look is his reply, Castiel’s jawline clenching seductively and his Omega instinct swoons at that dash of Alpha sprinkled into the conversation. The way Cas tilts his head pulls at him, at something silent and ignored, stuck in the cage of his ribs, and it desperately wants to be heard. He stammers, casting his eyes down to the table surface, circling the knots in the wood grain.

“I… One too many knotheads, right?” He skips ahead to the solution, because the problem feels pointless to talk about. “If Jody hadn’t suggested Betas, I probably would have done something… excessive.”

Tipping the cutting board, Cas adds the vegetables to the crockpot. “Such as?”

He shrugs, tucking his chin, while he clicks his tongue. A quick look at Cas, whose impressively intense gaze, yep, still there. Dean cocks his head, narrowing his eyes, unsure if he is testing the waters or provoking, when he leans forward. Angling for something he doesn’t even understand. “Anything to make it stop.”

“Pain can provoke that. Or the thought of knowing your pain will come back.”

“How would you know?”

“I don’t,” Cas says. “Not personally.” Dean winces, because the topic is enough to make his muscles clench, and he squirms in his seat, which sets off guilt across Cas' features. “Ahh… I… I’ve made you uncomfortable again.”

He chuckles helplessly. “Nope, but you were probably onto something with that whole ‘the body remembers’ thing. Talking about it sort of makes it worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Uh-huh. How about you don’t apologize and get with the program?” He shoots Cas what he hopes is a winning smile, while he nudges his chin at the food. “Cause you look like you’re about done cooking.”

“I need to clean up.”

“Do you? Like, really?” Cas looks at him, adorably confused. “Do you really need to clean up? Or do you need to… y’know.” He cocks his head towards the couch, eyes darting over and back to make his point.

He grins when Cas’ eyebrows jump in a valiant effort to meet his hairline. “You’re teasing.”

“Yeah, Cas, I am. Well, I’m also asking if we can settle down, because it’s starting to hurt and I wanna…”

“Yes,” Cas says. “Of course.”

He slips into his smoother Alpha side and cleans up anyway, because apparently Cas can’t help himself. He stacks the dishes Dean built up in the sink and ensures the crock pot is covered, but in the time it takes Dean’s pain to up his heart rate, Cas is by his side. His hands cover his sore spots, back and abdomen, like he’s the filling in an ice cream cookie sandwich. And suddenly he craves one.

Grimacing, Dean lets out a pained snicker at the thought.

“What?” Cas asks.

“Nothing.”

Scrunching up his nose, Cas inches closer, eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t smell like nothing. Smells… kind of like an indulgence?”

“Goddamnit, it’s like I’m a manual to you.”

That elicits a smug grin. “So what is it you want?”

Dean fidgets, leaning backwards, but Cas simply follows, as if personal space doesn’t exist. With a sigh, he caves. “An ice cream cookie sandwich.”

Cas sucks his lips, a sharp sound, fingers wiggling against Dean’s shirt. One side of his mouth crooks up.

“I really feel like one,” he adds.

“Yes, I can tell. But they’re not good for you, especially during your heat.”

He resists the urge to pout, only marginally succeeding, if Cas’ conflicted expression is anything to go by. And his pupils dilate. Maybe there’s an upside to this lingering attraction, he muses.

_How about you don’t be a douche to the only decent Apha you’ve met in years?_

He can’t resist pushing just a little, releasing a wide eyed energy on Cas. “Please?”

“That is an unfair mechanism, Dean. But I’ll do some research.” He removes his hand from Dean’s back, his instant annoyance provoking an equally immediate reassurance. “Blockers.”

_Right._

He watches while Cas wipes his wrists and neck down with a towel, quick and efficient. The beginning of a storm brewing inside his chest, Dean’s heart beats faster at the prospect and he leans in the second Cas is done, inhaling enthusiastically. When Cas’ eyes find his, they crinkle as he smiles and Dean’s at a loss. He licks his lips, winces when pain tries to distract him and considers burying his nose in Cas’ neck.

“Now… Walking or carrying?”

He recoils at the blunt, but apparently deadly serious question, which successfully distracts him from his craving. Both of them. “Dude, I am not an invalid.”

Cas works his tongue and jaw, flashing him some pink in the process. “I am aware. Perhaps I enjoy carrying you, if I know it helps.”

He genuinely considers it, finding himself on that ledge. The one where his Omega wants to give in. Wants to be carried and cherished. While the self-reliant side of him tells him to get a grip already, because his pain isn’t nearly bad enough to merit being carried, no matter how much he craves that too.

Considering he just tried to pout his way into getting an ice cream cookie sandwich, it’s probably becoming a moot point anyway. He finds that reluctant middleground and angles towards Cas. Instinctively their hands find purchase on each other in unison, Cas maybe a heartbeat ahead of him, and they walk to the couch.

Rather than giving Dean another choice, Cas maneuvers them both until Dean’s cradled in his arms. He’s pressed to the soft back of the couch. When Cas slips a warm hand under his shirt, splaying it wide on his lower back, he groans softly and hides his face in his chest. Mainly because there’s nowhere else to hide and the pin-pricking pain in his ovary kicks in. Singular, because he can feel which side the demon egg of this month’s choice is coming from. Like tiny needles on a mission of vengeance for not being pregnant yet.

He whines, squirming, legs jerking while they slot between Cas’. A stray hope that his libido won’t decide to act up hits, but the pain tends to keep that at bay, at least. He squeezes his eyes shut. Cas’ grip on him tightens, reassuring and strong.

“Cas, your…”

“I’m here.”

“No kiddin’,” he mumbles.

Cas clears his throat meaningfully and he looks up.

“What?”

“There’s scenting to be done, I think?” he says, tone warm and teasing. Dean looks up, glowering, only to find a twinkle in Cas’ eyes, and his heart lurches, when the expression goes softer into understanding. His voice sounds steelier than he expects, which releases some of his inner storm to send his stomach flip-flopping wildly. He blinks a few times, the frown dissipating, when Cas runs fingers through his hair the way a lover would. “You’re safe.”

He bites back the whimper that wants to worm its way out and avoids Cas’ gaze, by giving into his instinct. Eyes falling shut, he noses at Cas’ neck in search of the scent he’s been unable to forget since the first time. Wrapped in Cas’ fragrance of a warm star-dappled summer’s night near a cherry orchard, the soothing effect is near-instant and sends a relaxing ripple down his spine. Cas’ hands wander across his shoulders, kneading the muscles, before he slips them back under Dean’s t-shirt. With a sigh, he surrenders, settling into the embrace, Cas invading his senses the best way possible.

Time is a relative concept when you’re in pain. Apparently, even more so in the arms of this Alpha. Dean melts against him, both of them warming at the close contact, and floats on the comfort. The pain gets dulled, overwritten by painkillers and the effect of Cas. It soothes his mind in the process, allowing for a few, very rare moments of quiet in his head.

Cas’ words come as a whisper after however long they’ve been lying like this and tug at him, ripples of gentle energy bursting under his skin like fireworks. His eyes are slow to open, so he doesn’t bother to fight it.

“I’ve been wondering…” Tentatively spoken, it sounds like he half expects Dean to be asleep. So he lets out a deep hum to signal he isn’t. “What do you do for a living?”

Breathing shallow, a smile breaks through. Memories flood him at the innocuous question. 

“Teacher,” he mutters. “I teach pups in primary. That was the idea anyway.” The silence that follows begs him to fill it, which, to his own surprise, he does, his timbre low and lazy. “It gave me time to take on a second job to help Sam. And they’re cute.”

“They are?” Fondness sounds thick in his voice and his own echoes it. 

“Yeah. Little wild ones.”

Cas chuckles, a curiosity palpable in his scent. Vivid flashes play before his mind’s eye. Colorful chalk. Handcrafted wooden benches. Elaborate blackboard drawings. Endless stories. Little mouths hanging open, wide eyes full of wonder and curiosity. Relentless energy. Teaching them about the people of old, the moon and stars. Running wild with them in nature.

“I managed a few years,” he says. “Before it got really bad. The painkillers didn’t work sufficiently for me to be on my legs all day. If you can’t show up every day, what’s the point? Especially in education… Those kids…” 

He curses, swallowing when his voice peters out. Cas nudges at his cheekbone, his hand coming up to leave a subtle, soothing mark on his neck. The sigh Dean lets out turns to a soft purr.

“Did any of your principals know?”

“One of them. In the second school I worked at. They knew and tried to support me as best they could. But I was replacing someone anyway, so it couldn’t last. Cried my eyes out at the end of that year, cause I felt like…”

Cas pulls him closer, tilting towards him, and Dean smiles against the scruff in his neck, despite the sadness betraying him. The weight of Cas _on_ him also derails his train of thought for a few heartbeats, until Cas prompts him. “Like?”

“Like I was forced to leave the only place where I may have stood a chance. Not just against this damn condition, but… the place itself.”

“Sounds like it was a unique school…”

“Uhh, yeah, kinda.” He inches back enough to look at Cas’ face. “Total coincidence I ended up there. First interview was a mess.”

“How so?”

“Okay, don’t judge me…”

“I would never,” Cas mutters, without a trace of sarcasm. 

Dean snorts, shooting him an incredulous look. “It was one of those free-range children's schools.”

Cas laughs, the sound and effect of it making Dean smile. “Free-range children? What the… Oh! You mean, the independent schools? They aren’t just for wild ones.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean hums.

“I keep forgetting the name for some reason. Uhh,” Cas mumbles. Scrunching up his face, he snaps his fingers behind Dean’s back, until his eyes light up. “Waldorf?”

“That’s it. You know of them?”

“Yes, of course. My niece goes there.”

“Cool,” Dean smiles. “What grade?”

“Middle school. She loves it. She presented as Omega and mainstream education proved… taxing for her. Why was your interview such a mess?”

“Well, I got a tour of the place, because apparently that is a thing they do for each applicant. And the guy doing the tour asked me if I knew what organic architecture meant.”

“Okay. Was it a test of some kind?”

“Nah. I mean, at the time, I thought so, cause every friggin’ job interview feels like an exam and you gotta give the right answers to get in, right?”

“Right,” Cas says, his shoulder twitching in doubtful response. “Kinda. I hope we do better.”

“Something tells me you do. But it’s always about matching, right? In retrospect, I believe he was genuinely enthusiastic about it and just wanted to share, but in that moment, I panicked. Having no fucking clue what he meant, I just sort of guessed?”

“Considering its adages, it’s fair game to try.”

“What would you have guessed?”

“Durable material? Alternative energy sources. That kind of stuff.”

“Right!” Dean exclaims, the excitement sending a spike of pain through him.

“Easy now,” Cas chides.

“No. I mean, yes,” he grumbles, cuddling closer. “That was my guess too! Makes sense for a school like that. But no, that wasn’t it. Instead, a-fuckin-parantly, _organic architecture_ means the buildings change and grow with the kids.”

“Pardon?”

“Also my response,” Dean grins, giddy at the effect Cas is having on him. “I liked it. A lot. Once I understood it. When they’re in kindergarten, their classes are smaller, closely knit together. I think he equated it to leprechaun mushrooms? None of their buildings were rectangular.”

“Now that you mention it, I noticed it when visiting Juliet’s school. We didn’t go in, but passed the primary and kindergarten part. Juliet’s was, sort of, in between, I guess you could say? On the cusp. And the secondary building was… taller. More glass.”

“Yeah, sounds about right. I taught primary, so we were in the more nest-like classrooms. Which is nice.”

“Yes.”

“I like nesting,” he mumbles. Fucking tool. Like Cas doesn’t know and it isn’t a damn needy thing to admit to out loud, so he quickly rambles on. “And you’re right, it ain’t only the wild ones. That’s just… me, I guess. I loved exploring with them, even when I couldn’t keep up anymore.”

Cas hums at him, searching his face intimately. “You miss them.”

A soft splutter and he returns to hiding in Cas’ chest. Dean lets out a deep, appreciative rumble, when he notices his squirming popped a few of Cas’ buttons, and he’s nose first in his chest hair. Short, dark, swirly pattern. He almost plants a kiss. Sure Cas must feel it, even when he doesn’t. Words, Winchester.

“It ain’t perfect, but it’s a helluva lot better than the schools I went to. Even the quietest ones come outta their shell. Or get to be actually at ease.”

“Juliet certainly has. She and her brother fight less, which in turn makes her mother easier to deal with.”

“Her mom being your lying rug of a sister?”

“That’s the one,” Cas says.

“Family time sounds like a blast.”

“Depends how much of a nuisance Luci or Gabe want to be, but with the pups? Yes, it’s fun.”

He smiles, leaning back at that collected string of words. “Ohhh, you’re _that_ uncle, huh?”

“What uncle?”

“The favorite who gets them all tuckered out and in trouble."

"Hmm, I think the latter honour goes to Gabe."

"Your eyes are totally giving you away, man. Not to mention your scent.”

He scrutinizes Cas, who smirks, a windsweeping billowing effect bursting through his fragrance. A cooling breeze on a warm summer’s day. “Do tell, Dean. What do you smell?”

Messing with the pillow until he can rest his head better, he tugs at Cas. His Omega enjoys the way Cas moves with the insistent gestures, until part of his weight is back on him. It also buys him some time to sift through the subtleties in Cas’ scent. He catches Cas’ playfulness, which likely translates to his sister’s pups. Something else encases it though. A whiff of regret. Chances missed. And then a single-mindedness and… _tired_?

Huh.

“How much sleep do you get? Like on a weekly basis. Cause running a business...” That squint returns to Cas’ face, his forehead wrinkling. His scent sours slightly. Dean wriggles around, so he can see him better. “Ooh, I hit something.”

The rumble Cas lets out vibrates through him pleasantly. Tempting in its depths and the possibility of eliciting more of these moments. He’s not at all opposed to the soft aggravation he picks up on. “Did you now?”

Dean winks at him, loving the scowl that begets. “Hey, it’s only fair. You’ve been reading me with insulting ease.”

“I can’t help it. Your scent…”

“Are you always… like this?”

Cas squints at him. “Like what?”

They stare at each other, Dean’s heart thudding palpably where their chests are touching. “This attuned to your, umm, clients.”

Another bull’s eye with that question, if only he understood what he was accidentally asking, and despite the fact that he can't stop grinning, a thrumming nervousness hits. It takes him a second to figure out it’s because he wants to hear Cas deny it. Cursing softly, he tries to stomp down on it, before his scent betrays him.

Maybe it’s the sudden upsurge in anxiety or his Omega kicking up a fuss at wanting to know. It nets the same result. He inhales sharply, clutching onto Cas’ shoulder, and whines.

“Come here,” Cas says, tone going warm and steely at once. “Enough talking. Scent me.”

Dean complies, pressing his lips to Cas’ neck and finds his rapidly beating pulse, reassuring like a lifeline. Whimpers on a smile, when Cas kisses his forehead and just stays there, his deep voice talking him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me posting a chapter first thing I wake up equals 'no notes', so I didn't link the [art IG](https://www.instagram.com/malcreatesathing/) or gief any hugs. The scandal. 
> 
> I think I'll post most on Tumblr too? It's a separate process, cause posting from IG to Tumblr is messy in terms of layout and I get annoyed by things like that. No idea how often, as I'm also working on original content (writing and art). I tell ya, it's a party navigating the ambitious ideas and the impostor syndrome. But stuff's happening. After the recovery (checkup went well, I'm healing up nicely), I'm setting up a small studio!
> 
> Hope you and yours are well.  
> Love and HUGS,  
> Mal


	14. “Fucking hell, between you and Cas I have no privacy left."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pulled from his nap by his ringtone, Dean sits up with a snarl, but the sudden change happens too fast and his head spins. Instinctively he searches for Cas, while scrambling for his phone. He fumbles with the thing and registers the sound of running water. He clearly fell asleep while they were watching television. Television screen’s black, so Cas must’ve turned everything off before heading for his shower. He slides the green button.
> 
> “Heya, Sammy,” he says, voice slurring.

Pulled from his nap by his ringtone, Dean sits up with a snarl, but the sudden change happens too fast and his head spins. Instinctively he searches for Cas, while scrambling for his phone. He fumbles with the thing and registers the sound of running water. He clearly fell asleep while they were watching television. Television screen’s black, so Cas must’ve turned everything off before heading for his shower. He slides the green button.

“Heya, Sammy,” he says, voice slurring.

“Dean, hi!”

He sighs, smiling at the relief in Sam’s voice. “How are you?”

“Heh. I was gonna ask you the same thing. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but that’s okay. It might be dinnertime.” He scratches at his tummy under his shirt. Everything feels horridly warm. “I think? What time is it?”

“Almost 3pm. So not dinner.”

Cas closed the curtains.

“No, not dinner.” Bemused, he sniffs the air a few times, sighing at the scent of fresh chili with chicken and merguez. Potatoes in the oven too. “But something’s cooking for sure. And it smells friggin’ good.”

Sam chuckles. “So I take it your hot Alpha is performing admirably?”

“Shut up. Who says it’s him?”

“Oh? It isn’t? Funny… Lemme check.” The density of the sound changes, when Sam puts him on speaker. “Yeah, no, Lee and Nick aren’t taken in the app, ergo you went with someone else. Seeing as you wouldn’t go for a random person again, it has to be the Alpha.”

“The Alpha… Way to make him sound like a token.”

He wonders if he should perhaps have protested the 'your Alpha' first.

“In your case, you gotta admit he’s got something close to unicorn status.”

He snickers at the visual that throws up. Something involving Cas, all cute in a rainbow-colored onesie. What the hell, whoa, clearly still halfway in the Land of Nod. He shakes his head, flinching when that provokes stings of pain. Keeping his eyes closed, he sighs and rubs his forehead.

“Yeah, okay, Sherlock, you got me. I didn’t know I was under investigation.”

“Nah,” Sam laughs. “I’m just enjoying this. You sound better again than you did last time, no offence to Lee. So he’s doing good, I take it?”

“Fucking hell, between you and Cas I have no privacy left,” he grumbles. He only half-means the lament.

“Who needs it anyway? Speaking of, okay if I drop by one of the following days?”

“To examine him?”

“To see you, you jerk, but, yes, also to meet _Cas_.”

“You never met Lee or Nick,” he points out.

“This is different.”

_Is it?_

“It’s a good thing,” Sam says with an exasperated sigh. “I wish you’d see that.”

He grouches fondly, but hope nestles in his heart anyway. And nope. Well, part nope, part hell-fucking-yes. “Yeah, my heats don’t need to be as miserable as before.”

“How much of a difference _is_ he making anyway?”

“Sufficient,” he says, tone clipped. “It still hurts. A lot and often… But Cas… He makes it easier. Soothes it, I guess. His scent…” He clears his throat. “His scent is something else. Don’t even…”

“I wasn’t going to,” Sam says quickly. “I’m relieved to hear it. It’s about time you caught a break.”

His breath stutters and he experiences a hot flash that has nothing to do with pain, when Cas is _right there_ , staring at him. Dressed in his, oh, God, so sinfully low-slung pajama pants, Dean's focus is blown to bits. He follows a tempting treasure trail up to Cas' bare chest, finding swirling patterns of short, dark hair. Dean tries to prevent himself from panting, unsure if he succeeds. 

The scars on Cas’ ribs and abdomen, partially covered by a weird alphabet tattoo, stop his thoughts in his tracks.

When did gravity get so heavy in his apartment? And when did his heart decide to be immune to it, pitter-pattering like crazy? Cas’ blue eyes darken when he catches how Dean’s checking him out. How long has he been standing there?

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. “I think it is.”

“Sorry, what? You’re agreeing?”

He licks his lips, perhaps slower than is necessary, but fuck it, he _wants_ Cas’ rapt attention. “What? Yeah, sure, Sam, whatever. You’re smarter than me. You know that.”

There’s a heavy silence on the other side. “Hey, Dean?”

“Myeah?” 

He refocuses or wants to, but fails to drag his eyes away from Cas, and, would you look at that, Cas is in similar trouble.

“Is, uhh, is Cas anywhere near you at the moment by any chance?”

“Mmmhwhat...?” He gathers enough of his wits. “Why do you ask?”

Sam lets out that know-it-all snicker. “No reason whatsoever. I’ll leave you two be. You seem to be in good hands.”

 _Not yet_ , he thinks, gaze skittering to said hands, busying themselves with drying messy hair, while Cas looks away. His face hardens, as if he’s annoyed with something, but his scent belies the expression and Dean wants to soak it up. “Sure, Sammy. Thanks for calling.”

“Sure thing. See you soon, jerk.”

“See you soon, bitch.”

He grins, when Cas’ eyebrows shoot up at that little exchange, and it fully tears them out of their reverie. Moving towards the kitchen, Cas checks on the chili.

“Sam?” he asks.

“Yeah. Checking in.”

“That’s good.” He drapes the towel over the back of one of the chairs. “How is he?”

“A sassy little know-it-all, who is in dire need of a break.”

“Finals?"

"Yeah. Kid doesn't know the meaning of the words 'pace yourself'."

"He probably learned from the best. Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head, overwhelmed by the scents billowing around him. _Not that kinda hungry_ , he thinks, doing his utmost to look at Cas’ face rather than anywhere else. Half naked Alpha. Happy, half naked Alpha, smelling like heaven and suggesting all kinds of sin by his mere presence. All for him. This is new.

His mind goes into a bemused lull, while he leans his elbows on his knees, and stares. Cas is built. Softer around the waist than he thought, but still a solid mass of muscle underneath, wrapped in tanned skin, his personality landing on the cute side of awkward, topped off with too much empathy and a delightful way of taking charge. It’s indeed waking a different kind of hunger. One that’s been on mute during his heats for years. _Whelp_. He puts his hand over his wildly beating heart, willing it and his scent to calm the hell down, before Cas catches on. Insofar as that isn’t a lost cause.

The fact that Cas is hovering above the food might be his only saving grace. Not that the little stunt they just pulled didn’t register on both sides. He's holding his breath, when Cas casts a look over his shoulder.

“Do you need anything from me, before I go fold the laundry?”

Snapping out of it, there is enough self consciousness or shame at play to mask whatever the hell that was. He moves gingerly, testing the waters. “No, I think I’m okay if I don't move around too much. If you bring the baskets here, I can help. Doing laundry on your own sucks.”

“Can’t deny that,” Cas says. “Anything specific you’d like to do after this?”

_You? No. Nope. Shut it._

“Uhh, depends how I feel. Maybe a game after dinner? I mean, if you don’t have anything you need to get to.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m good. Be right back with the baskets.”

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that either. As the owner of _Brush_ , an expanding company, Cas should have plenty to do, but it’s like he doesn’t have a care in the world, besides cooking food and folding Dean’s laundry. Which, charming as it is, also feels oddly detached. As if there are two worlds he resides in: one within the four walls of Dean’s apartment, and one without.

Perhaps it’s part of the company approach, he muses, while Cas returns, arms full of two baskets. Then he remembers Nick and Lee, who are vastly different. So maybe Cas _is_ a bit rusty? Or just weird. Or just… here. With him.

He smiles at the strangely anchoring thought.

“You okay?”

“What? Yeah! I am. Surprisingly so,” he stutters. “Nap did me well too.”

“Hm, happy to hear it.” Cas plonks both baskets down on the couch, before moving the top one to the coffee table. “Let’s try to keep that streak going.”

He sits down on the other side of the basket, fishing out washcloths and socks. Laying them out on his thigh, he looks for the matching ones. Dean joins him, finding towels to fold. A stern focus rearranges Cas' features. The tip of Cas’ tongue peeks out between his lips, while he sifts through Dean’s socks. 

“You do this on purpose?”

“Huh?”

“Your socks. Could they be any more similar in print and color?”

“Nope,” Dean grins. “I usually don’t care how I pair them up, so neither should you. No one can tell the difference, exactly because they’re so similar. What?” He gives Cas a sweet smile. “It’s efficient.”

Cas frowns adorably, holding two up to the light. Then two other ones. He glances at Dean, squinting intensely, then shakes his head, scoffing fondly. “I feel I ought to have a better retort to that.”

“But you don’t, do ya?” 

Dean winks at him, loving the way the Alpha’s scent intensifies. A shiver goes through him, threatening to unleash something unwise, when Cas squirms his right leg between the back of the couch and the basket. Legs falling wide, he gets visibly more comfortable and hellbent on the task at hand. Dean loses some focus in the process at the sight. It’s probably a good thing Cas is wearing loose pajama pants. He gets pulled under into the domestics of the moment with every sock successfully paired and every towel folded.

Cas’ foot makes contact with Dean’s knee, soft and warm, then hooks behind it, toes wiggling. His Omega lets out a low, sweet purr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cause there is no way the siblings won't get involved. Also, I think we are doing two postings a week now?
> 
> I am working on art for this! Not sure if I'll add a story to the series where I post it all in one go or add it to the relevant chapters. Both?
> 
> The wind is picking up. The leaves are changing. Yes, I am an Autumn critter.
> 
> Cookies'n warm tea,  
> And hugs,  
> Mal


	15. “You’re annoying, even for a sibling.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So…?” He hopes Gabe got what he called for. “We’re good? Cause we’re expecting a visitor later. Some more sleep would be welcome.”
> 
> “Who’s visiting?”
> 
> Dean’s breath comes slower, moist and intimate, tickling at his collarbone. “Dean’s brother.”
> 
> “Meeting the family already?”

“Mmmhuh?”

Sleepdrunk, Castiel frowns when his phone rings with a different tune than he’s used to. Not a regular phone call, his brain provides, but his motoric reflexes are faster and he slides the green button, before he can second-guess the decision.

Filling the screen is Gabe’s trickster smiling face.

“Gabe,” he says dumbly. “What did you…?”

“Video call, brother-dear! Cause you’ve been dodging my regular calls.”

“I’m with Dean,” he grumbles.

“Aha. Good morning. You look smashingly fucked out.”

Of course Dean’s awake enough to hear that, pushing himself up to squint at the world and the glare of the phone. Castiel immediately wants to run his fingers through the hedgehog hair. “What the fucking hell, Cas?”

“My brother,” he grunts. “I’m sorry. I’ll take it to the living room.”

“Nu-uh.” Dean protests and promptly throws his weight back down, successfully pinning him. Not truly, because Castiel can disengage without too much effort, if he so chooses, regardless of Dean’s size and weight. He simply prefers not to.

“I’ve missed you,” Gabe says sugary-sweet.

The almost personal level of intrusion is bringing things to the surface that are best left buried. For a moment he thinks his vision flares up red. “No, you haven’t. You just want to invade not only my privacy, but now also Dean’s, because of your misplaced curiosity.”

Dean huffs into his neck, the curve of his smiling lips palpable on his skin. “Way to hold back, man,” he whispers. “I thought Sam and I were bad.”

“Oh, psht, ye of little faith,” Gabe says airily. " _Misplaced_ curiosity on my end, is it?”

Dean sneers softly, sliding his hands over Cas’ ribs, searching out the rise of his scars. Soothing him, he realizes, when that doesn't upset him. Sneaky little Omega. He finds Dean's gaze in the semi-dark. Gabriel launches into a tirade, suggesting he has the right to know what Castiel, the self-proclaimed perennial bachelor, has been getting up to, heavy on the implications that he’s been keeping secrets. Tasty secrets. A sly little voice lilts up to suggest he isn't entirely wrong. Attention on the blessed feeling of Dean’s hands on him, Castiel largely tunes it out, though Dean clearly doesn’t.

“Holy shit,” Dean grumbles. “You’re annoying, even for a sibling.”

Castiel laughs, relief flooding him that Dean’s not picking up on or, at the very least, not putting much stock in Gabe’s taunts.

“You’re the mouthy, handsome Omega.”

“You bet,” he snarls with surprising intensity.

He doesn’t look at the screen, instead squeezing down reassuringly on Castiel. It’s too charming, especially because his hair is mussed up and he’s sleep-soft, while still managing to come off as plenty worked up. Unwise, but heartwarming. On impulse, Castiel kisses him, aiming for a freckled cheek, but landing somewhere near the corner of his mouth. It mellows both of them out in that surprised, bemused kinda way, though for the life of him he can't tell who’s influencing who the most right now, while they stare at each other.

Thankfully, he was also aiming his phone up in his fumbling attempt at expressing gratitude.

“Cassie! The ceiling’s no fun to look at. What are you doing?”

“We _were_ sleeping,” he says, adjusting his grip. He tries to keep Dean out of the frame as best he can, but being plastered together nose to toe makes that a futile endeavour.

“This late in the day? You never sleep this late.”

“He does here,” Dean mumbles, sounding very pleased. Then, penny dropping, adds, “What the fuck is your normal schedule like, Cas, it ain’t even 8 yet. Sleep good.”

“Good influence on you,” Gabe says.

“Gabe,” he sighs. “Why are you calling?”

“Because I am curious. But now my concerns are eased. And I’m actually kinda sorry I woke you two. What a most unpleasant feeling.”

“Empathy from you this early in the day? Good influence on you too then,” Cas fires. “Within less than two minutes even.”

“Well, you look fairly adorable.”

He wants to say that Dean’s ‘just a client’ and the silence that falls between all three of them is the telltale type, recommending he do just that. It’s what he _should_ say. But it’s a blatant lie and with Dean, so warm, soft and content in his arms, his Omega out to play, Castiel doesn’t think he’s physically capable of producing the words. The way Dean presses to him, lips against his neck, does things to his insides. Funny, wispy things, like he's flying and caught in an updraught. He breathes in shakily, focusing his attention on Gabe, even while his arm grips Dean tighter.

“You’re okay, right?”

Gabe’s cocked eyebrow suggests he wants to ask Castiel the same, but bless him for once, he doesn’t. “Of course, I am. Almost at the shop.”

“So…?” He hopes Gabe got what he called for. “We’re good? Cause we’re expecting a visitor later. Some more sleep would be welcome.”

“Who’s visiting?”

Dean’s breath comes slower, moist and intimate at his collarbone. “Dean’s brother.”

“Meeting the family already?”

“Apparently,” he says, equally befuddled at that particular turn of events. He didn’t question it. Dean’s heat, Dean’s rules, within reason and common sense, cause he won't let up about that ice cream sandwich. “Though I suppose it has more to do with checking out the Alpha that’s encroaching on his brother’s personal space.”

“We told you a thousand times about personal space, Cassie,” Gabe teases.

“Dean doesn’t seem to mind,” he says, perhaps more defensively than he should.

“Hmm.”

That pensive kind of ‘hmm’ again. “What, Gabe? Please just spit it out. Dean’s asleep.”

“Yeah, right, I have half a suspicion that one’s still eavesdropping with the little protective streak he just displayed. It’s nothing. You just look... at actual ease and more rested than I’ve seen you in a while.” 

He’s fiddling with the keys and Castiel hears the familiar dingling of the sweet shop’s bell.

“Duly noted.”

“Fuck, I forgot what a grump you can be in the morning.”

“For good reason,” Castiel says, but he’s smirking. “Have a good day, Gabe.”

“I’m expecting an uptick next week.” Right, school holiday. “You too,” Gabe shoots back pointedly with a sleazy wink.

He tosses the phone in the landscape of blankets around them and curls around Dean protectively, whose noises suggest he wasn’t fully asleep, but halfway there. Their scents blend and pull him under once more with ease.

*

Dean’s looking from Sam to Cas, locked in their stalemate across the coffee table. The icecream sandwich Cas bribed him with into okaying blockers for the duration of Sam’s visit is starting to melt to perfection. He wonders idly which one of them will break eye contact first, as he takes a big bite. Cute, if it wasn’t so unnecessary. But, he guesses, after Gabe’s nosy phone call, it makes sense Sam would want his share too.

Cas is oozing something entirely different than Dean’s used to. For starters, his pupils are nearly pin-pricks. Intense, borderline scary focus. His shoulders squared, legs crossed, arms spread over the back of Dean’s couch like he owns it, everything about him screams business. That he has nothing to hide. Dean thinks he spots a hint of sass in the stance of his eyebrows, while he licks his lips, tilts his head slightly and simply _waits_. Sam is welcome to try and come at him. 

It shouldn’t be this hot. But it is. Last thing he needs is slip-sliding off his couch. With Sam and Cas in the same room. He wishes they were alone. Instead he makes a loud slurp noise, licking around the sandwich, and smiles sweetly when that provokes an aggravated look from Cas.

Problem is, Sammy never really shies away from a challenge. Especially not when it comes to Dean. So he shakes his mane, leaning his impressive form over until his elbows rest on his knees, narrowing one eye at Cas. 

“You never sent me your number.”

Cas’ jaw clenches, not in apology, but rather deeper amusement. “At the time, Dean was adamant, so my focus was elsewhere. I did ask Jody to upload my profile to Dean’s.”

“In the app? You’re not there.”

This begets a genuine confused head tilt. “I’m not?”

“Nope. I checked.”

Cas sighs and wants to dig up his phone from his pocket. For all that he’s in business mode, his attire is anything but. He frowns when he can’t find it.

“Bedroom,” Dean says, licking his fingers clean. “Gabe’s call, remember?”

“Right,” Cas says. “Be right back.”

“Dude, how much older is he?” Sam hisses, as soon as Cas is - hopefully - out of earshot. “I mean, he told me, but…”

Dean glowers, while he leans over to put the little plate on the coffee table. “ _Dude_ , why are you so hung up on age? You’re normally not _this_ prudish.”

“I’m not a prude,” Sam sniffs.

“Exactly. So is this because of miss-whatsername-Moore?”

His expression contorting into one of his best bitch faces yet, he tries to cover up the obvious full body blush he goes in. “Jess. No.”

“Uh-huh, you suck at lying when it comes to partners,” Dean grins, connecting the dots easily enough. “What happened?”

“She…” Sam hesitates, visibly put out that Dean turned the tables on him. “She’s a TA.”

“So? Age difference should barely matter.”

“Not the point here,” Sam grunts. There’s something else he’s hiding, Dean thinks. Sam leans back in the kitchen chair he pulled up, his long legs sprawled wide, and crosses his arms. “Stop dodging.”

“Oh, I’m dodging? You’re clearly in some chivalrous ethical crisis about…”

“Found it,” Cas says, obviously announcing his impending return for Sam’s sake. Just as well, because whatever Dean was about to say was clearly hitting all the marks. And Sammy doesn’t want to talk about it.

At Cas’ next words, his skin goes tingly. “All those blankets…” He seems to catch himself on that, blue eyes widening while they skitter to Dean and his lips do that sweet, apologetic thing. “Made the bed.”

“Tha… Thanks, Cas.” 

Sam’s gaping now, eyebrows trying to meet his hairline, and Dean lets his leg swing wide over the coffee table, nudging his brother on the knee. “Sam, fucking manners, man.” 

He winces at his own stupidity. Bad idea. He lays a hand over his abdomen, a gesture not lost on Cas, whose fingers twitch as if he wants to lace them with Dean’s. Instead Cas leans over and squeezes the back of his neck gently, leaving a subtle mark that has Dean sighing, before he sits back down.

“But,” Sam protests, all but bristling with either excitement or doubt. “Nest? Right? That’s what you meant.”

Dean tracks Cas’ body language, finding a self-consciousness that twists his heart. For all his confidence in his business and caring for Dean, there’s something in Cas’ undercurrent he hasn’t been able to quantify yet. Leave it to his moose of a brother to come stomping in and all over this. Usually Dean’s the worst of the two of them.

“Yes,” he says, drawing Sam’s intense scrutiny away from Cas. “So what if it is? You are so crossing a line, by the way.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude,” he says to Cas, before looking back at Dean. “I just wanna make sure you’re in safe hands.”

“Second time he’s here means something. Because me telling you I am ain’t enough.”

He holds his breath, when Cas’ scent breaks through the much lamented, but sensible-for-the-occasion barrier, before dwindling back down. Pure gratitude, sprinkled with a promise of some kind. Sam wrinkles his nose and is about to open his filterless mouth again, but Cas beats him to it.

“I assure you, Sam,” Cas says, voice even. “Dean’s safe. Ask me anything.”

“Oh, Cas… Bad move,” Dean sighs, but they’re smiling at each other. “Kid’s a lawyer.”

“Not yet,” Sam grins, studying Cas.

“As good as,” Dean says, feeling a need to explain to Cas. “And he and I?” He gestures between him and Sam. “We’re used to operating in a moral grey zone. So you basically just gave the keys to the city to a gang of thieves and told them not to abuse their access.”

Cas shrugs, the mildest expression on his face, and relaxes marginally when that makes Sam laugh. “I’m hardly one to cast the first stone when it comes to moral grey areas.”

“Really?” Sam asks. He shuffles forward again, curiosity oozing off him. “So how _are_ the legalities for your line of work?”

Without missing a beat, Cas snaps his attention to Sam, fingers rubbing together idly. “In many ways it’s like running any other business, I imagine.”

“Except for the part where it’s sex work and there’s plenty of people who don’t like that. Cause morals or whatever.”

A deep laugh escapes Cas and he mirrors Sam’s body language. Dean groans. A second time, louder and annoyed, when both Cas and Sam look at him, eyebrows raised in innocent (Cas) and insulted (Sam) unison. 

Of course that’s where Sam’s mind goes and _of course_ Cas engages him. What else did he expect? But he’s sure as shit not gonna sit through what’s undoubtedly going to be a boring exchange of lawful back doors, affidavits, finances and other shenanigans while he’s forced to function without Cas’ scent.

“Go ahead,” he says, waving a hand. He gets up from the armchair and plants himself next to Cas, dragging a blanket over him before he nestles his head in Cas’ lap. “No, really, go ahead, but I’m gonna need…”

“Always, Dean,” Cas says, audibly flustered, no doubt, at Dean’s display in front of Sam.

“Sure thing,” Sam says. “I mean, unless you want me to leave?”

Dean squints at him from his vantage point, sliding his hand behind Cas’ back and under his shirt. Blessed warmth. “Welcome to stay. Dinner too, if you want. Just not one sassy comment from you about _this_ , alright? You two do your nerdy law thing. I’ma nap.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turns on his side, nuzzling into Cas’ abdomen, absolutely _living_ for the way that makes Cas jump away under his touch, before he settles. Because Dean can be a jerk like that. When he casts a quick glance up, angling for coy, he can’t resist grinning at the impressive view, hovering above him. Cas must’ve run his hand through his hair, cause it’s wilder. He’s managing the effect Dean has on him admirably, but he thinks he spots a few tells. Hopes. The clench in his jaw, for one, which blends beautifully with the slightly admonishing look in his eyes. The faint blush peeking out from under his shirt is awful pretty though. Hardest to miss is the increased heartbeat, intimately so, just under Dean’s cheek.

He huffs softly at the pain, burrowing closer, and purrs in gratitude, when Cas’ arm slips under the blanket, then under his shirt to keep him warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this one ^^ I started a new story, which is my ficfacer$ one. No worries, it won't affect this. Also working on fanart for this fic and sporadic Suptobers. Too much going on to commit myself to daily finished art prompts.
> 
> I'm loving the shift in season, waking up all toasty under my sheets. Hope you and yours are well, friends.  
> Hugs,  
> Mal


	16. “You’re stunning.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following his nose, he almost trips on the carpet, because his legs are still sleep-heavy. He’s enjoying this semi-state of consciousness. The world softened at the edges, his pain in a lull, his whole body at ease in a way he’d forgotten was possible. His mind already high on whatever he woke up with, the sight he finds in the kitchen brings him to an abrupt halt.

When Dean wakes, it’s to the lazy comfort of sunlight on his skin. He stretches, slow and careful, his muscles like lava lamp liquid, the hot water bottle falling away. Shifting onto his back towards the light, he lifts the sheet to let some air in and smiles. His arm bumps into something soft and he glances sideways. Pillow. He purses his lips in a pout, because that’s a new pillow. One of those comfy, long ones. Was it here yesterday?

He tries to remember. Sam stayed for dinner, which was cosy enough, even if half of the stories shared were hella embarrassing. For a while he was worried Cas would judge them for the shit they got up to, but then he remembered the lockpick and soon enough, Sam was needling stories out of Cas. Turns out they’re not that different in their humanity, even while Cas still managed to hold back.

Things took a turn for the worst shortly after. Upon leaving, Sam hugged Cas, which clearly confused the hell out of the older Alpha. Dean vaguely recalls Cas carrying him to bed. The pillow may have been there, up against the headboard, but he was in too much pain to ask. Too eager to curl up and make use of Cas. He hums and blinks at the choice of words.

His gaze travels up the pillow, finding more of them. Blankets. And a few of Cas’ shirts. With a groaned laugh, he rolls back on his side, then stomach, pulling Cas’ pillow to him. Inhaling, his mind pops with colours and shapes beyond definition, but the fragrance soaks through him with every breath. It feels like it’s sinking into him to on a cellular level and, fuck, if it doesn’t give him exactly what he needs.

 _Nest_ , his gooey Omega brain unnecessarily provides, putting up a complete song and dance show in this private moment.

His stomach pulls his mind from the snoozy comfort with a loud, insistent growl. With a big yawn, he rolls over, feeling for any discomfort. His body’s tired, achy in too many places to count, but the pain is quieted. Pleasant surprise since he hasn’t taken anything since last night. He gets up and tugs on his robe. The next moment, his nose becomes aware of the scent of garlic and fresh meat.

Cas is cooking again.

Following his nose, he almost trips on the carpet, because his legs are still sleep-heavy. He’s enjoying this semi-state of consciousness. The world softened at the edges, his pain in a lull, his whole body at ease in a way he’d forgotten was possible. His mind already high on whatever he woke up with, the sight he finds in the kitchen brings him to an abrupt halt.

A sinuous feeling pools in his gut.

Okay, so Cas is a ridiculously good cook, the kind of company he can actually stomach 24/7, but that ain’t it today. Blissfully unaware of Dean’s approach, thanks to headphones and the scent of food, he’s… _dancing_. 

Cas is friggin’ dancing through his kitchen. And he likes his music loud, because when Dean pricks his ears to catch the song, he finds a coconut, summery tune, the words _‘hey fat boy, I wanna make you smile_ ’ reaching him before it’s lost again.

But holy-friggin-shit-Christ-on-a-cracker-for-Christmas, Cas has _moves_.

The tune is echoed, the lyrics too, on a deep hum by Cas, because of course, he’ll add singing along to this performance. Mesmerized, Dean leans his hip against the table, hand scrambling for something to anchor himself through the next breath.

He blinks rapidly when Cas pulls an unexpectedly filthy trick with his hips. His gaze thoroughly stuck on the globes of Cas’ ass, he follows the patterns.

Slightly off-beat? Something decidedly eurotrash follows the coconut song, but he doesn’t recognize it and part of him winces at what he deems an unexpectedly debatable music taste. There’s something different here though. Something other than the obvious of having Cas dancing through his kitchen.

A lot of men have this almost cookie-cutter dancing style, an unfortunate side-effect of posturing taking precedence over personality. Dean’s been to enough clubs to effortlessly call up visuals of the type, having taken them home more than once and regretted it soon after. He’s glad he isn’t one of them himself, even if he’s convinced he looks like a dork when he dances. 

Cas, however, seems to have developed an entirely unique style along whatever life’s paths he’s walked, leading him to Dean’s doorstep. Somewhat different and hard to pinpoint, because he spots some salsa to his hips and fucking tango in the way he strides from the stove to the fridge and back. 

And then he dips it lethally low, fabric tightening across his thighs and ass, giving Dean a glimpse of what the roll of those hips could feel like. Something that looks like sin, but hits like heaven. He expects his mouth to go dry, but instead he dimly realizes it’s watering. Swallowing hard, he digs his nails into the table surface, imagining himself between those thighs.

An intense curiosity bursts free within, while what feels like the widest, goofiest smile forms on his face. Okay, maybe he’s panicking and he tends to laugh when doing so. But this is gold. Molten, hot gold.

He’s unsure whether he also laughs out loud or if it’s the movement of Dean adjusting his robe around him that breaks through the moment, but all of a sudden, Cas tilts his head, as if catching his scent, and looks at him, eyes wide. 

A deer caught in headlights.

A quick rush of blood has Cas’ cheeks blooming with colour and he flounders, leaning a hand on the counter awkwardly. The other first reaches up to his hair, then lands back at his hip, upping the hapless levels. 

Dean can’t prevent the soft snicker. It’s like a switch got flipped. He’s loving and hating the way Cas doesn’t know how to give himself an attitude, until the Alpha’s instincts kick in and he squints at Dean in silent accusation.

How _dare_ Dean sneak up on him. Something like that.

Dean wants to apologize, but not really, so he smiles wider, when Cas hooks one side of his headphones behind his ear. They stare at each other. ‘Good morning’ seems like an almost absurd thing to say.

Though it is. A glorious morning.

“ _Fat Boy_?” Dean asks, shooting Cas his most dubious look.

“... Yes?”

“You got a size kink?”

Glaring, Cas gives a curt shake of his head. “Pansexual, if anything.”

“Hmm. Interesting music taste.”

For a moment, thunder gathers around Cas and that voice dips even lower. “You’re on a roll this morning.”

Wanting more, Dean teases his teeth with his tongue, going for innocence incarnate, knowing full well it won’t fool Cas. “Just not what I expected you to listen to.”

Cas sighs, as if having expectations is a dirty business, and hell, maybe in his line of work, it is. His expression shifts from fond annoyance to something softer, yet… challenging, when he works his jaw and angles himself towards Dean.

“I used to dance.”

Dean’s brain, the little sleazebag, offers up a shitload of visuals and scenarios at those simple words, anything else brazen he’d hoped to tease Cas with successfully evaporated. Poof. An asthmatic mental wheeze at best.

“You...Hmmm?”

It gets worse when that has Cas full on laughing, the tables turned. He has a deep, generous laugh, even if it is currently at Dean’s expense, or maybe his own, who knows… He can bear it easily. A more vigilant part of his brain comes back online sufficiently to stop the trajectory he’s on that would bring him within Cas’ personal space.

Fuckin’ Alpha effect.

“I used to dance before I did this.”

So he did hear that right.

 _Whelp_.

His mind sputters like a wet oil wick. Thankfully, Cas gets back to cooking, while Dean organizes the new information. The impressions, mostly. Wishes Cas would start dancing again, but that seems unlikely. “That’s how you got into this?”

He gives Dean’s question serious thought, forehead marred, a deep kind of focus settling in. 

“I suppose. Sort of kicked off at the same time. I ran away from home, because… Well, for the myriad of reasons kids run away from home. Didn’t have a degree or any particular, marketable skills. Except _that_.”

A one-shouldered shrug accompanies the words, spoken so easily. Jaded, almost.

“But I was pretty,” he says with a smooth grin. “Long hair back then, dyed blonde. Naomi’s doing, shortly before I ran. Decidedly less weight.”

“I like your weight,” he blurts out, because, shit, he’s suddenly feeling a lot of things at once, while he tries to _process_ , and he wonders how much of that is Cas’.

Cas casts him a sideways glance without really looking at him, brows furrowed as if something hurts, but he’s smiling about it anyway. The urge to listen and understand is overwhelming.

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen. I was better at lying back then. It’s funny what you get up to for the sake of food and a roof over your head. But my survival skills seemed to be adequate and ironically I called more shots as a dancer than as a waiter or any other kind of job. Not without risk, but… Never got hooked on anything.” He lets out a self-deprecating sound. “For very long. And only landed in the hospital a handful of times.”

“The scars,” he says, immediately catching himself. “Shit, sorry. I really am on a roll.”

“That you are,” Cas amends, one eyebrow arching up, and Dean’s insides do that funny melting thing again.

“You’re stunning.” He almost winces at his own voice, dripping with care.

Letting out a sharp sound, both dark eyebrows arching up, Cas regards him heavily as his hands still. “In for a dime, in for a dollar, clearly. But thank you, Dean. You’re too generous.”

Words become a jumble, because Cas has that _completely_ backwards, and he’s still trying to wrap his head around a sixteen year old, blonde Cas, running from home to dance for money. And more. Getting hurt somehow in the process, because how can you not?

Cas hums, turning to Dean and catching his eyes meaningfully. “Please don’t do that.”

His face has trouble keeping up, while he purses his lips and recoils a bit. He tugs at his robes, trying to hide. “Wha…? I’m not sure what I’m doing right now, Cas, besides…”

 _Feeling things_.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘pity’,” Cas says delicately. “And it’s not necessary. That was a long time ago and as you can see, I’m clearly not starving or selling myself for money.”

The lines of semantics start blurring uncomfortably. Cas snorts gently. He puts the spoon aside, lowering the heat. Leaning against the kitchen counter sideways, he crosses his arms, smirking. 

“At least not in a way that puts me at odds with my own wants and needs.”

Dean glares at the joking tone. “Your wants and needs are being met here? In this shitstorm of pain?” His hands are shaking, anger and regret churning and burning him up, because it ain’t fair that the kid Cas once was had to go through that, but… Cas has a point. He is doing okay now and it isn’t Dean’s prerogative, not by a long shot, so why is he upset about this?

“You’d be surprised,” Cas says. He tugs at the now silent headphones so they fall to the back of his neck and crowds Dean the next moment. Dean sort of expects it by now and only steps back enough to be able to still see Cas’ face. “You are in pain again.”

_Holy shit… Who cares about that?_

His robe falling open, he throws his arms around Cas’ neck, honest to God hugging the man with all he’s got, and just like with Sam, this knocks Cas off balance. Literally. He sways back, but Dean chases him, clinging to him.

“Dean, what…"

“Just accept it, will ya?” he whispers hoarsely. Fingertips digging into Cas’ shoulders, he bunches up his shirt and nudges the headphones. Dean’s unable to close his eyes, stuck on the food and his kitchen tiles. Useless things in the face of... “Fuck me, Cas, you do enough. You do so much. At least take the hug.”

His nose is invaded by Cas’ fragrance, delicate like the breath of the budding universe, and he hopes against hope that his own scent is equally soothing, all things considered. Slowly, Cas’ arms sneak underneath his robe. Dean smiles through tears he’s blinking away furiously, when Cas relaxes in his embrace. Leans into him and hell, finally, and yes, he likes Cas’ weight, among other things. Dean slides his fingers through Cas’ hair. With a long, heavy exhale, Cas buries his face in his neck.

For the first time since they met, Dean has the tender feeling this isn’t some one-sided obligation. That they might be able to stand as equals and the comfort travels both ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, you. 
> 
> Ahh, some Cas background. Imagine that young Misha picture with the windswept, longer hair for that.
> 
> *yawns* starting a day here. Hairdresser later. First time since March.
> 
> Hope you're all doing good, lovelies.  
> Hugs!  
> Mal


	17. “I don’t... I don’t want to go through this again…”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His tears are hot against his skin, cold the second they run down to his temple hairline behind his ears and into the pillow. He stifles the sobs. Palms his eyes with both hands, pressing down hard, because his sinuses are stuffed and throbbing along with his heartbeat.

His tears are hot against his skin, cold the second they run down to his temple hairline behind his ears and into the pillow. He stifles the sobs. Palms his eyes with both hands, pressing down hard, because his sinuses are stuffed and throbbing along with his heartbeat.

Cas set up his laptop on the kitchen table. Dean doesn’t want to pull him from that, now that Cas finally admitted that he sometimes - maybe, and _only if there’s absolutely nothing Dean needs_ \- has to keep tabs on his work.

Figures that would coincide with _this_.

A simpering sound does wheeze out of him. He’s past the point of even mediocre clarity. His world is limited to the few inches of air just outside his body, a sickly aura, which can never provide sufficient oxygen to help him breathe deep enough and fight what he’s feeling.

He can’t even open his eyes. Blurred by tears and blinded by pain.

“Dean! Baby… Hey, hey, shhh, Dean…”

A flurry of black through his cracked eyelids. The mattress tilts. Warm hands on him. 

“I’ve got you,” Cas promises. “Come here.”

He whimpers, louder than he means to, and clings to Cas the moment he can. The nickname barely makes it through, but the sentiment behind it does all the more, when he’s wrapped in both warmth and scent. He snarls and wails, when he surrenders to the utter misery he’s feeling.

“It’s getting bad and I don’t want to,” he sobs wetly and hiccups. “I don’t... I don’t want to go through this again…”

“I know, baby, I know. I wish I could do more. Scent me, okay? Come here…”

And he does. God, how he does, because despite the waves of pain, Cas’ scent makes it through and he buries his nose in his neck, in search of more. The soothing beat of his heart under Dean’s lips. The sense of pure protection Cas exudes whenever Dean is in this kind of distress. Every time. The flavor that hits like syrup when he inhales him in the hot, moist pocket of reality he finds himself in. Cas kisses his temple, murmuring sweet reassurances, his warm hands already sneaking under his shirt, spreading low and large over his back.

He shakes his head, whining, and Cas doesn’t even need the words, but Dean forces them out anyway. “Front is worse right now.” 

Cas shifts around, rather than making Dean move, and slides up behind him. Presses himself flush to Dean and plants two warm hands low on his belly, pulling Dean partly on top. They fit like a perfect two-piece puzzle, legs entwining without effort. A dangerous stray thought, that one, but one he indulges in, because he is tired of resisting.

Like the material nest he creates for Dean every day, Cas’ fragrance wraps around him like blankets, the effect fast, but still forcing them to stay like this for a good while before Dean can breathe again. Promptly passes out, which is no surprise. 

When he wakes, his temples are throbbing and he is light-headed. He blinks against the brain fog. A soft rumble behind him alerts him that Cas is aware. He chuffs a sweet purr at him in reply and lets out a sigh, not quite relaxed, but better than before.

“I’m pretty sure it’s an illegal service you’re providing?”

Ugh, his voice sounds awful.

“Welcome back. Illegal how?”

He clears his throat a few times. “The way this is going,” daring to move, Dean slides his hands over Cas’ arms, feeling the goosebumps rise in their wake, “I’m slip-sliding into addicted territory fast. Which, as far as I know, is illegal.”

He looks over his shoulder. Fuck, Cas is beautiful up close. He’s also blinking, seeming a bit slow on the uptake, until he scrunches up his nose.

“Please don’t compare me to a drug. Or my service to anything illegal.”

Dean whines softly at the reproach, a dim part of him aware Cas doesn’t mean it that way. “Sorry. Big mouth. Tired.”

“Not going to contest either of those assessments,” Cas smiles, planting a kiss to his shoulder, looking at Dean through his lashes. “No need to apologize though.”

Dean goes a bit cross-eyed, trying to maintain his focus on the sight. Those pink lips connecting with his freckled skin, while he mumbles sweet words. The straight line of Cas’ nose, as his nostrils subtly flare, drinking in Dean’s fragrance. He holds Cas’ eyes, watching his pupils dilate.

“But I’m pleased you’re so fond of my scent.”

Slightly pink at the ears, he searches Dean’s face. Dean lets him, unsure what, if anything, Cas is looking for. An intimate moment, stretching out, until, seemingly content with what he finds, Cas slots them back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early, cause a friend of mine kinda needs a distraction. Not sure they'll be able to get to it, but it's here anyway.
> 
> Dean's feelings here, the chapter title, are very much my own. Re-reading the words never fails to trigger the memories and I am glad to be rid of the issue. Posting this story during recovery has been strangely soothing and part of the journey, it seems, so I don't think I can express sufficiently what it means. Thank you for reading and being here.
> 
> As always, love to you and yours,  
> Mal


	18. “Come onnnnn, Cas, I’m a dork when I dance."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, soak it up,” Cas says.
> 
> “Real subtle, man.”
> 
> “We’re trying to be subtle about anything?”
> 
> “Did you dip into my booze while I wasn’t looking?”

His heat broke. Somewhere during the night. Earlier than usual.

All the same, Cas is still here and Dean isn’t going to fight that. Their noses in the game, they’re both aware. Last time, Cas stuck around to ensure he had enough food for a few days, so it’s not that different.

Except for a few glaring matters.

He needles Cas long enough - “Come onnnnn, Cas, I’m a dork when I dance. Bet you can remedy that! Please? What do you want in return? You’re _killing_ me not ever seeing that again.” - until he caves and teaches Dean a few dance moves.

Which in retrospect wasn’t his _brightest_ idea, because it scatters his focus to the four corners of the wind as soon as Cas lays a hand on him that isn’t heat-related. But then Dean doesn’t always think his plans through. In the end, it hardly matters, because Cas is indulgently patient with him and Dean manages to make him laugh in return, proving his dorky moves.

Minor detail: his libido decides to act up somewhere during the fourth try at salsa. Because… Okay, listen. 

Have you ever danced salsa?

You should try it with someone who affects you the way Cas does him.

It results in a hasty, tactical retreat to the bathroom to shower his lizard brain into submission. Under Cas’ politely knowing gaze. The retreat, not the shower. Jeez.

By the time he’s feeling somewhat more normal - the normal get-up helps - he’s grateful to find Cas is cooking one more meal for him, even when it makes him instantly wistful. Rolling his eyes at himself, he shakes it off. No use stinking up their last hours with that particular fragrance. He sidles up to Cas, rewarded with his weight leaning in.

“Yes, soak it up,” Cas says.

“Real subtle, man.”

“We’re trying to be subtle about anything?”

“Did you dip into my booze while I wasn’t looking?”

“I barely drink unless with certain friends of old,” Cas assures him. “I guess time got away from me while I was here.”

“Ahh,” Dean says, unsure what to do with that. “Kinda sucks to get back to work? Which is weird, cause this is also work for you, but maybe it’s different. Paperwork sucks, right?”

Great, he’s rambling.

Cas laughs softly. “Something like that, but I’m sure I’ll live. The most important part is done.”

Sounds like the pamphlet again, Dean thinks, but he lets it slide, instead snuffling at Cas’ neck. Cas wraps one arm around his waist, pulling him to his side, while he stirs the food.

*

Leaning casually against the door frame, Castiel takes in the view one last time. Dean’s dressed in regular clothes, which Castiel hasn’t seen before. It’s usually pajama pants, robes or heat underwear. The jeans accentuate his bow legs, he thinks absurdly.

And he’s not opposed to the lumberjack vibes at all.

“By the way,” he hums, allowing his voice to slip slide into generous Alpha territory. For good measure, he cocks his eyebrow, putting a theory to the test. “I don’t appreciate being called ‘a nerd’.”

For a moment, Dean splutters, flushing beautifully, but pain free, he’s clearly sharp as a razor. Clever eyes light up, a sassy eyebrow rising.

“You using air quotes really doesn’t help your case there,” he says. “And I don’t think I called you a nerd. I called both you and Sam nerdy. Big difference.”

“Is there? Please, elaborate.”

He smiles, glancing at the number above the elevator, grateful it’s slower than usual today.

“It’s like…” Dean puts up a show of thinking, pursing his lips. “Like our genders. The pesky ones. Omega,” he points, then shoots a finger gun at Castiel, clicking his tongue. “Alpha.”

Castiel lets out a hapless, amused sound. Dean must be feeling better, he thinks, though he’s been aware his heat broke during the night. The most interesting side-effect of that was the way Dean smelled this morning. In short: drowsy and horny. And deep enough in his sleep still that he wasn’t aware of himself rutting up against Castiel.

It sent Castiel scrambling out of the bed and into the bathroom, horrified by his red eyes staring back at him in the mirror. The fact that Dean still managed to pester him into dancing lessons is telltale.

“Yes?” he says tightly at the reminder.

“It ain’t what we are. Part of us, yeah, but it doesn’t define us. I mean, in my case, that’s what it sometimes feels like, because of how it impacts me, which is why it sucks balls, but it doesn’t really define us.”

“Because we’re more than our secondary genders,” Castiel agrees. “I fail to see how that applies to ‘nerd’.”

“There you go again,” Dean huffs, flashing him an even row of teeth smoothly. It’s making his head spin. “Nerd- _y_. And even if you were, you’d be a cute one.”

The elevator dings and slides open. “Nicely dodged. I’ll take your word for it. My ride’s here.”

“Shucks.”

He’s getting a bit too endeared by this easy-going version of Dean. The way Dean cocks his head, he realizes he forgot to put his blockers back on this time around, so that sentiment is right there. Ripe for the plucking.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean’s voice pitches into sweet, almost sultry Omega waters without warning. “See you soon.”

If only.

“Be good to yourself, Dean.”

It’s on the way down that he realizes Dean was still scenting him throughout the day, even though he didn’t need to anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made two shinies for this story and not sure how to go about posting them. Best to put them in a separate work and link to the series? I'll add them to their respective chapters when we get there too, but one harks back to the start of heat three.
> 
> Tired. Also stressed about work. Life probably, but then who isn't lately.
> 
> Hugs, my friends, cause we need them.  
> Mal


	19. “Dude… Personal space. We’re in a store.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure?”
> 
> “Yes,” he sighs. “I’m sure.” Curses softly, when he turns around and bumps right back into Cas. “Dude… Personal space. We’re in a store.”
> 
> Cas looks only moderately chastised and budges to an acceptable distance. “I… Sorry. Force of habit, I guess.”
> 
> “Cute, Cas,” Dean smiles. “You do that with all your clients?”

A week and a half after parting ways, Castiel’s _Brush_ app dings, while he’s in the middle of returning the leftover masonry supplies and tools to his workshop with Bal’s help. The last time that happened is long enough for his brain to be exceptionally slow processing. It may also have to do with some fatigue due to less than stellar night's rests since Dean's heat. His brain kept replaying the badly aimed kiss. Kissing is off limits, as per Dean's profile, so he's been trying to work his mind around it. Not much luck, because he keeps getting distracted by the other memories, the ones where he got things right. Where he chased the pain or made Dean smile or they danced.

He huffs, trying to expel heat.

It’s a warm Saturday afternoon. His music’s playing, which seems to amuse the neighbour’s teenagers to no end and he can tell they’re trying to get a peek. The design of his garden, however, provides plenty of privacy, including a sun shade overhead, even from curious pups. He laughs when he hears the girl fussing at him to turn it up, but obliges her. Somewhat. He doesn’t want to annoy any of the others. Though he’s hard-pressed to describe himself as sociable, he likes to maintain a decent rapport and blasting what Dean described as ‘retro eurotrash’, while looking for a song to dance to, is hardly the way to do so.

Setting down the bag of cement, he wipes his brow, cursing under his breath. It wasn’t supposed to be this warm, was it?

“Cassie! Your phone is blowing up!”

He hears it. The same pinging sound in rapid succession and it finally clicks.

Dean.

“Yeah, I know that sound too,” Bal grins when Cas hurries. “Surprised you didn’t react sooner. The buckets and gloves in the workshop too?”

“Uhh… No, storage room,” he says.

“Alrighty, but you better take me out to dinner somewhere fancy. I’m going to be wiped.”

“I keep my promises, Bal.”

He huffs a smile at his friend, but his focus is on the screen, while he unlocks it and opens the app.

Update? They didn’t plan an update.

Oh.

Very slow on the uptake, his brain now rushes into sixth gear, barreling onwards into the information he’s scrolling through.

Dean updated his preferences.

His world gets coated in beautiful red.

His lips pucker up instinctively.

“That’s a good look on you,” Bal says cheekily.

*

Dean resists the urge to groan. Or sneeze. He’s in the produce aisle. People ain’t gonna like it if he sneezes all over the different types of tomatoes he’s trying to make his mind up about. But the chill gets to him and he does anyway, hiding his face in his sleeve.

Quickly he gathers up six chonky beef tomatoes and four of the oddly shaped ones. Cas told him the name, but he can’t remember, and his eyes are watering. He adds onions, bell peppers and bananas to his cart. A few easy ‘fresh’ meals for the days ahead, just in case. Normally the worst is behind him, but if the coughing acts up again, he’s not going to want to move much.

When he exits the giant refrigerator, he shivers and huffs at the contrast, hugging his arms around himself. He takes the aisle that leads to the bakery corner.

His attention immediately drawn to the myriad of pies, he sidles up quickly, looking for his favorites. In his haste to snatch up the peanut butter muffins, he bumps into the guy next to him, reaching for the same box.

His senses pick it up, before his brain does.

“Cas?”

With a smug smile, Cas holds out the box to him. “Hello, Dean.”

Chuffing sweetly, he catches himself, because hey now, back in damn line. But Cas laughs and ugh, so does he, even if it’s a bit green, because the warmth is now getting to him. Annoyed, Dean holds his hand up to his own forehead to check.

“Are you alright?”

He can’t even form the reassurance, because Cas is in his space, shamelessly trying to scent the fact that he is _not_ alright.

“I’m fine,” he says, glaring at Cas lightly. “I was ill these past few days, but needed groceries. I’ll be taking those.”

He takes the box Cas is still holding and walks to his cart, the Alpha in tow.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “I’m sure.” Curses softly, when he turns around and bumps right back into Cas. “Dude… Personal space. We’re in a store.”

Cas looks only moderately chastised and budges to an acceptable distance. “I… Sorry. Force of habit, I guess.”

“Cute, Cas,” Dean smiles. “You do that with all your clients?”

“I don’t have other…” He grimaces as if he doesn’t want to say the word and gathers himself.

Dean rolls his eyes mildly and leans on the side of the cart. “It’s fine. I’m teasing.”

“Of course you are.”

“Fancy meeting you here,” he winks, which, whoa, seems to be a bad idea, 'cause his head is spinning.

“Dean…”

“I’m fine.”

He tugs at his jacket and tries to shoulder it off and then the ground is coming to meet him. Cas’ rude as fuck curse is the last thing he hears.

*

“Who did you say you are?”

“My name’s Castiel. He’s Dean.”

Okay, he can’t have been out for long, but his mouth feels a little funny and his tongue seems to have stopped working.

“What happened to him?” Sounds like a kid, and a squeaky one at that.

“He’s ill and fainted.”

“No shit,” the kid says and Dean wants to laugh at the blunt response, wondering how Cas deals with that. “And you just happened to be there?”

“What?”

“Yeah, Alpha, I can smell you. You two aren’t mated, so what’s the deal?”

Dean forces his eyes open, finding himself partially supported by a chair, partly propped up against Cas in a messy little storage room. _Great_ , more carrying.

“Kid,” he huffs. “It’s okay.”

“Dean,” Cas says, audibly relieved.

He smiles up at him in reassurance and tries not to purr when Cas’ hand lands in the back of his neck. “Jeez, it’s easy to frazzle you.”

“It’s not funny. You fainted.”

“I’m _okay_ ,” he insists.

“Are you sure?” the kid asks.

Another one.

“Yeah.”

He grabs at Cas’ arms, who instantly protests that he shouldn’t yet, but Dean’s not having any of it. He wants to be on his feet and out of here. Looking at the kid, a slender, blonde specimen with gentle eyes, he finds a nametag ‘Jack’ on his chest and aims a reassuring smile his way.

“Look, Jack, nothing to worry about. Him and me, we... uhh, we know each other, okay? He helps me out on the regular, if you know what I mean.”

Jack is clearly and unhelpfully nonplussed. The way he tilts his head feels familiar, though for the life of him, Dean can’t tell why. Instead he groans, a touch exasperated at the concept of ‘sex work’ joining an already uncomfortable and frankly obsolete conversation. 

Feet. Cart. Cash register. Car. Let’s go, people. 

“You’ve got good instincts,” Cas says.

Jack squints, clearly unsure if he likes Cas’ diversion. “Thanks? I guess. Is there anything I can do?”

“Just low blood pressure,” Dean says. “It’ll pass.” Disengaging from Cas, he claps Jack on the shoulder in gratitude. “He’s right, you know. You’ve got good instincts. Now can we focus? I wanna get home.”

“I’ll help you finish up your groceries,” Cas offers.

“Uh-huh,” Jack nods. “Okay, I guess. If there’s anything you need help with, just ask.”

Before they leave, Cas hands his card to Jack. “If you want another job, feel free to have a look at our openings on the site.”

Jack stares at the card, looking adorably confused when it finally sinks in what Cas does for a living. “What the... This is how you recruit?”

“Not usually, I’ll admit.” Cas looks smooth and at ease with this, which Dean guesses is normal for as long as he’s been doing the job. “But your keen senses and empathy may be a good fit for the company, provided it’s the kind of work you’d want to do.”

“Can’t say I’ve considered it. Is this legal?”

The subtle scandalization at even being suspected of not being legal is visible on Cas' face. He's sure Jack misses it. Dean snorts a laugh. “It’s all aboveboard, kid. I’ve been using their services for years.”

Flicking the card over between his fingers, Jack nods, eyeing them seriously. “You two are strange.”

“That is a given. He’s a bit rusty too,” Dean grins, loving the way Cas’ jaw clenches at that.

“I’ll think about it. Now get him home?”

Cas nods. “Always.”

Oh, fuck me gently, Dean thinks, closing his eyes.

There’s no way he’s getting rid of Cas now. Not that he wants to, but he’s sufficiently annoyed at being such a mess. Why can’t he just be himself around Cas for once? His genuine, non-miserable self, that is.

Cas doesn’t seem in the least bit fazed. In fact, Dean’s sure he can pick up on his Alpha through the blockers, which seems odd, because he wasn’t able to at the start.

*

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks again, perhaps with a light tease to his tone, but he can’t resist.

Dean is quite adorable the way he’s scowling at him. Though a part of him wonders if he isn’t pushing his luck. His Alpha seems to be in a playful mood.

“You’re _not_ carrying me to my car across the parking lot and that’s that.”

“But…”

An explosive sigh makes it out and Dean plants his feet wide, arms crossed, gesturing with one hand to emphasize his words. Castiel can sense his suspicion that he’s just being messed with, but the next words make him realize it was perhaps ill-advised to do so.

“I know you’re used to seeing me in pain and channeling some serious damsel in distress levels, but I can function on my own. I’m surprisingly self-reliant outside my heats.”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything else,” Castiel says truthfully.

It’s so easy to fall into that trap. On both sides. Within the job, it makes sense, since it’s what they get paid for, but in the current context, he needs to give Dean his space.

“Then _don’t_.”

He takes a step back. “My apologies, Dean. Would you mind if I carried your groceries?”

Dean gives it some thought and shakes his head. Silently pleased, he picks up the bags, slinging one over each shoulder, and grabs the box from Dean’s cart.

“Where’s your car?”

Dean puts the cart back in its place and gestures. “The Chevy just around the corner. Parking was too full.”

They walk in comfortable silence, Dean casting curious glances at Castiel, as if he’s excited or expectant about something, which he can’t pinpoint. Until it happens.

“Oh, shit,” Castiel exhales, when he spots the sleek black car and understands.

Laughing, Dean sidles up next to him, close enough for them to bump into each other a few times. “What?”

“That’s your car?”

“Yep.”

“She’s a classic!”

“That’s my Baby,” Dean says.

He grins, adjusting the weight of the groceries. “Baby…?”

“Don’t you…”

He remembers using the moniker for Dean. 

“She’s beautiful.” He lets his eyes roam over the vehicle. “You work on her yourself?”

“Yep,” Dean says, pride seeping in, while he opens up the trunk. “Built her up from scratch.”

As uneasy as he seemed mere moments ago at Castiel’s behaviour, Dean’s clearly quick to forgive. Castiel can’t make up his mind whether that’s truly a good thing, but his Alpha is trotting in happy circles at being able to help Dean and seeing him _outside_ of his heat. It’s more than a pleasant surprise.

While Dean gets in his 'Baby', he puts the groceries in the trunk, letting her fall shut gently. Dean seems to notice and approve of that. Walking around to the driver’s side, Dean’s hand holds the door open and without thinking, he steps into the space. His hand finds purchase on her warm roof.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes. It ain’t a long drive. I’ll be fine.”

Leaning on the car door, Castiel realizes they’re both hovering again. Dean makes no move to leave or push him away and instead takes him in with curious intent from his vantage point.

“Please take care of yourself,” he says.

“I… Yeah, Cas, I will. Just a viral infection.”

“It has nothing to do with damsel in distress levels,” he adds haplessly. “Just…”

“Forget it, Cas. I know that. I appreciate your concern. Sometimes I get angry when… that’s all you see.”

He nods in understanding. 

Fresh silence. He should step away from the car.

But he doesn’t. 

“Next one’s incoming,” Dean says idly. “Third one’s usually the charm, right?”

Tilting his head in the face of those hopeful, spring greens, he tries to conceive what numbers have to do with heats, until it percolates through like dense coffee. He hasn’t thought in _those_ terms in a while nor, he wonders, should it be applied to service work. Castiel almost blows a raspberry at the sight of Dean looking up at him through his lashes, visibly teetering on the edge of panic.

Instinct bodily moves him, before his brain can put a stop to it, sniffing out that tentative connection. 

Castiel dips in and kisses him. 

A quick, closed-lipped meeting of skin, which surprises them both.

When he looks at Dean, half expecting to be shoved off, Dean’s pupils are dilated and he’s almost chasing after him, as Castiel breaks the kiss. Not all the way, but far enough to betray the intention behind it. He blinks at Castiel in wonder and frowns.

“Not smart.”

Castiel’s skin is tingling all over, but he manages to sound steady. “What?”

“You’re gonna be hacking up a lung soon too.”

He laughs abruptly, grateful for Dean’s easygoing nature in the face of such a shameless crossing of boundaries. “I thought you said it wasn’t that bad.”

“It ain’t that bad _now_ ,” Dean amends with an eye roll.

“I’ll be alright.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dean’s expression ripples from a fond stink eye to guarded curiosity, his gaze dropping back to Castiel’s lips, as if he’s contemplating kissing him again, and why not… Why shouldn’t they? Movement from the corner of his eye, near the steering wheel. A jingling sound. The roar of Baby’s engine jolts Castiel upright, swaying backwards on his heels before he balances out. The flash of a smile Dean shoots him is wicked, chases some of his pallor and provokes a mass of butterflies in Castiel's stomach. He gently closes the door, Dean winking at him through the window.

By the time he drives out of the parking lot, Castiel is rubbing his eyelids with his thumb and index finger, one hand at his hip.

“What the hell were you thinking, Novak?”

And where the hell did he leave his cart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't run out of patience! Matters are shifting, okay, but they both still need to sort a thing out. Almost. I promise. Okay, I may feel guilty. Also working on another shiny! Kiss shiny. Go to my [IG](https://www.instagram.com/malcreatesathing/) to see a teaser. (Tumblr too, but is Chaos.)
> 
> Love, as ever,  
> Mal


	20. “This is kinda wrong. Forget I said that. I can’t just show up at his doorstep.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uhhh,” he stutters. “We saw each other at the store. I was ill. Sounds like Cas may have caught it.”
> 
> “How even?” Jody mutters, but it’s clear she’s not expecting an actual answer.
> 
> “Shit, now I feel guilty.”
> 
> “Hey, now, you can’t be blamed for a virus traveling on the air.”
> 
> Sure, on the air.

Dean makes sure he saves the paper before picking up the call. After last time, he’d hate to lose his work again. They pay him per edited word, not per hour worked. Thankfully, this time around the subject matter is a little more engaging.

“Heya, Dean speaking.”

“Dean, hi! It’s Jody from _Brush_. I’m calling for your annual feedback survey. Would now be a good time?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

He pushes his chair back and wanders around his apartment. Cas forgot one of his t-shirts in his bed, which he’s almost religiously kept out of the laundry. Might be time to wash it though, he muses, fingering the fabric idly. Reluctantly he gets a load of laundry going.

“Great,” she says brightly. “How’s the work going?”

“Good. Lots of papers to be edited and the finals are coming up, so everyone is scrambling to make the most out of it.”

“You’re telling me. Claire is in a permanent hissy fit, because of her exams.”

“Isn’t that her default setting anyway?”

“Har har, mister. I’m sure you were an absolute gem when you were younger.”

“What are you talking about? I was a regular choir boy.” Jody just laughs, which sets off Dean petulantly. Somewhere along the way something changed. “I knew I shouldn’t have let Sammy spill the beans.”

“What?”

“Over dinner. My last heat, Sam visited, so he met Cas. Got along splendidly, of course, with their big brains and hearts, but yeah, Sam was a bit too lippy about what we got up to when we were young.”

“When you were _young_ ,” Jody scoffs gently. “Let me check your age again, oh, ancient one.”

“Shut up,” he laughs. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. Though I doubt Castiel spilled much of anything. Haven’t seen him in a few days.”

“Oh?”

“He’s mainly been focused on not expelling his lungs.”

Dean grimaces at the visual and groans. “Awww, man, come on… He caught it?”

“Caught what?”

Oh, _right_.

“Uhhh,” he stutters. “We saw each other at the store. I was ill. Sounds like Cas may have caught it.”

“How even?” Jody mutters, but it’s clear she’s not expecting an actual answer.

“Shit, now I feel guilty.”

“Hey, now, you can’t be blamed for a virus traveling on the air.”

Sure, on the air.

“I guess,” he says. “What did you want to ask me?”

“Right,” she hums. 

It takes about fifteen minutes for her to fire all the questions at him and for Dean to formulate his answers. Typical stuff, ranging from the user-friendliness of the app to the extent of the offered services and the service members themselves. He keeps Nick and Lee primarily in mind, because they’ve done most of the work these past years, but flashes of Cas appear before his mind’s eye.

It’s making him smile, remembering their last, unexpected encounter. He _does_ feel kinda guilty, even if it was Cas who kissed him.

A warm, melty feeling swirls under his sternum.

“Well, shit,” Jody says.

“Huh?”

“I just got an email from the school…”

Dean snickers. “Your hissy fit hellraiser?”

“You bet. Damnit, Claire.”

“That bad?”

“Maybe?” She lets out a mildly dubious sound. “You never know with her, though most of the time I can’t really fault her reasoning.”

“Just her methods?”

“Even those…”

He laughs. Insofar as he’s gotten to know Jody and her family through the little snippets, it sounds like a warm, but hella mouthy household. She sighs. 

“The tone of the email does suggest I better make my way over sooner rather than later. Mainly badly timed.”

Her voice lilts into something pensive. Dean makes a face, unsure how to proceed, confronted with a conundrum that clearly isn’t his. Being who he is, the question forms naturally.

“Is there anything I can do? I mean, I can go pick her up,” he suggests. “Though I guess you have Donna for that… What am I saying?”

Jody laughs softly. “Donna’s out of town for work this week. Thing is I said I’d pick up some meds for Castiel and drop them off at his place before going to get the kids…”

His voice gives out on the first attempt. “I… I can do that. I mean, if it isn’t all kinds of wrong. This is kinda wrong. Forget I said that. I can’t just show up at his doorstep.” He breathes deep. 

Can he?

“Great idea, if you ask me. Why not?” Jody says evenly.

“I dunno… Privacy, for one. Boundaries.”

“I have a feeling he won’t mind, but I’ll give him a head’s up, if you like.”

“Uhh… Sure.”

“You’re a lifesaver. Thanks, sweetie. Will text you the list.”

He hangs up with a few muttered ‘nope’s at his own stupidity, his phone dinging instantly. 

It hits him, while he’s in line at the pharmacy after running Cas’ shirt through the dryer on a short cycle. In that time, he may have cooked Cas some ‘feel better soon’ food, which should be done by the time he gets back from this supply run.

Normally the annual feedback survey comes in through the app.

And there’s a whole slew of personnel at _Brush_ who easily could have handled this, including Nick or Lee.

Goddamnit, Jody.

He briefly contemplates calling either of the Betas to take over from him, when it’s his turn and he’s ordering the meds Jody texted him.

*

“Whoa, shit. You look like death, man.”

“Thank… you?”

Castiel is gawping. When Jody’s text came in, he was sure it was his feverish brain, throwing him for a loop. Too stunned to come up with a better comeback, Castiel squints at Dean and his winning grin, resisting the urge to pinch himself.

“So are you gonna invite me in? I’m not a vampire, I promise.”

Stuttering out an ‘of course’, Castiel gestures him inside, bodily pulled towards Dean when he comes within an arm’s length. Zero blockers on, he realizes, which is weird. Why would Dean walk around bare? He relocates a modicum of his social graces.

“You really want me to watch that Dracula movie, don’t you?”

Dean wags a finger, turning on his axis towards him, so beautiful in his pain-free smoothness, Castiel’s breath hitches. He’s wearing a lavender plaid shirt today. Colours suit him.

“What you so casually refer to as ‘that Dracula movie’ is a classic. Christopher Lee, for heaven’s sake! How can you listen to obscure 90s house and not have seen it? And, holy shit, your house catches a lotta light!”

He smiles, tired, but inexplicably pleased with having a fussing Dean show up, more or less unannounced, at his place. A suspicious part of his brain tells him to check in with Jody, because it feels like she had a hand in this, but he doesn’t have enough energy to figure it out.

“Your meds.”

Dangling precariously from Dean’s finger by its handles is a paper bag. Castiel sidles up to him when he starts unpacking boxes and lining them up in a row on his living room table. Bumps their hips together, pressing his shoulder into Dean’s.

“Whoa,” Dean says. He sounds surprised, but not put out, even smiles, when Castiel looks at the non-existent space between them, then at his face.

“I… Sorry. I’m…”

“Ill. And running a fever from the looks of it.” Dean presses his wrist to his forehead, his other hand resting at Castiel’s hip. His eyes are clear and focused, glorious in their smug kindness. “Where do you pick this stuff up? Licking poles is bad for you.”

Castiel snorts, jutting his chin out a bit, and stares up at Dean’s wrist. “Oh, here and there. Caught me off guard too,” he returns the gentle tease.

Dean purses his lips, everything about him twinkling. “Good thing I’ve got experience with this bug, huh? Picked you up the stuff Jody said you needed and some extras that helped me with the coughing.”

A rare, unfamiliar or perhaps forgotten sentiment washes over him, rendering Castiel effectively speechless while he tries to _feel_ it. Whatever his face is doing makes Dean duck his head. A touch awkward, as usual, so Castiel tilts his own in wonder.

“Uhhh… I also brought some food, if you need it? It’s in Baby. Wasn’t sure…”

Oh, God almighty, Castiel thinks, when something intense and warm blooms up from his very _heart_ and the assumption he’s been operating under these past months, perhaps years, gets blown to smithereens. _That’_ s why he isn’t wearing blockers. Every word Dean isn’t saying is etched between the lines through his quickly escalating fragrance.

Just like that he’s carried from his relatively miserable plane of existence to another, Dean’s scent dragging him along. Whatever they are, their bond extends beyond the boundaries of their professional arrangement. He has a stronger inkling though he’s hesitant to even think the words explicitly. A rare bond in and of itself, he would like to keep those possibilities at bay. Right now though, that’s proving difficult, because Dean…

Well. _Dean_.

Whatever Dean’s extending to Castiel is crystal-clear-cut and pure, the way only wordless communication can be. Like the images of perfect snowflakes Dean’s scent calls up. He wants to chase them. Twirling and glimmering in the pale, white sunlight, they are unique promises, each and every one of them.

Dean chuffs at him and gasps the next second, when Castiel presses his nose to Dean’s neck. His own scent must be all over the place. He rumbles in appreciation as Dean scrapes his nails over the tense spot between his shoulders and eventually leans back so they can see each other.

Dean’s smiling at him, in all his spring apple-green beauty.

“Cas, take some meds and go lie back down. I’ll get the groceries.”

“And the food? I’m very interested to know what you cooked.”

“Don’t expect anything fancy. Just my mom’s chicken soup and stew and pie I made yesterday.”

Speechless, he disentangles himself from Dean with effort. He’d like to scent him again. Pull him to bed. Instead he turns his attention to the boxes, popping two of the pills: one for his sinuses, another for his fever. Takes a spoonful of the cough syrup, before he crawls back in the nest he made on the couch.

Dean lugs in two big bags of stuff and a box.

“Leave me your bank account number,” he says.

“Forget it,” Dean scoffs. “With all you’ve done, this is the least of it.”

He moves brazenly through Castiel’s space, as if he doesn’t want to give himself too much time to think, and starts unpacking the groceries. Perishables go in his fridge and everything else Dean either shelves in the right spot, when he finds it, or lines up on the counter. He even pours the soup in one of Castiel’s pots and sets it on the fire.

When he’s done, he folds the bags and hovers near Castiel.

“Soup shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to heat back up. Stew needs a bit longer and will likely hit peak taste tomorrow or the day after.”

“I look forward to it.” Stupidly generic thing to say, but he’s sure it’s unwise to say what he’s actually feeling.

“You alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures him. “It’s kind of you to drop by.”

Chewing the inside of his lip, Dean chuffs again, a tad helpless, and he’s starting to look cutely flustered. He dips his hand under his shirt, which drags Castiel’s eyes to the flash of skin there, whether he can help himself or not. A bunched up bundle of fabric appears.

“I brought back your shirt,” Dean says. “It’s, uhh, it’s clean.”

The suggestion is right there. Clean, yes. And pressed to Dean’s skin until now. Reaching out his arm, Dean steps closer. Castiel gratefully accepts it, but puts it down on his abdomen. He can take it to bed tonight. Or bury his nose in it when Dean’s off, while he tries hard _not_ to think why Dean did that to begin with.

Which should probably be any minute now. It makes sense for Dean to leave.

“Wanna exchange numbers?” Dean blurts.

Bemused, Castiel fiddles with the fabric and Dean almost winces under his gaze.

“Yes,” he says quickly, before Dean can start rambling. “Yes, please.”

“Oh… Oh-kay.”

Another minute, likely less, where Dean enters Castiel’s number into his phone and dials it.

“Saved,” Castiel hums.

Dean nods, looking pleased and smelling very relieved. “I’ll be going. Let you get some rest.”

Castiel lets out a noncommittal sound, as if to suggest Dean doesn’t have to. Or can leave him with a mark. He doesn’t know if it’s him or Dean who lets out a soft whine.

“Probably for the best,” he says.

“Get better soon, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Castiel stares at the closed front door for a good while, before the scent of fresh chicken soup drags him off the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be art uploaded along with the next chapter, which will likely post on Friday! I seem to recall someone predicting Jody and/or Gabriel butting in? Here you go.
> 
> Hugs to you from a Mal who's had head aches for five days in a row -_- I haven't been sleeping right. Hope y'all are doing alright though <3  
> Love too,  
> Mal


	21. “Fine, Mr. Business Man. Let’s do this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas leans his hip against the table, legs crossed at the ankles loosely.
> 
> “So do I have blanket permission?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded fanart for the fic. One (1) Dean in [chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574647/chapters/63056569) and one (1) Castiel in this one. They're both in a separate [work here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26928835) too, for kicks. I never know how to deal with fanart.
> 
> Tadan. Mal drew a thing.
> 
> Hugs to you, beautiful souls, your presence makes for the happy.  
> Mal

He’s as nervous as the first time he was waiting for Cas to arrive. Bad enough to work past the pain to double-check the bed’s made and the food’s well on its way. All of which he’s blaming squarely on Jody, thank you very much. If she hadn’t played some kind of weird unprofessional matchmaker, he wouldn’t have seen Cas in his home, steeped in that _scent_. He wouldn’t have allowed his Omega _so much_ room to fuss over Cas, who much to Dean’s surprise fucking lapped it up, looking for all the world as if Dean had hung the moon the second he crossed his threshold. Confused too. But mainly pleased. Cas, who also gave Dean his number. Not that Dean made use of it since then. He has no idea what to say. Still.

There’s no way, he tells himself.

It can’t be. Guys like Cas don’t like guys like him. Not like that anyway. He’s a mess. A hot mess, granted, but still a mess. An Alpha at Cas’ life stage doesn’t need some young Omega with too many issues to count and certainly deserves better. He carefully ignores the little voice that reminds him Cas is very much single, silencing it with the possibility that it is a conscious choice on Cas’ part. Single doesn’t mean available. The stunt at the parking lot springs back to mind, but he dismisses it as Cas’ Alpha doing his protective thing. Sorta.

Tasty though.

And it did follow _after_ Dean updated his preferences. So maybe if Cas saw those… Just maybe...

The musings are put to rest the moment he lets Cas inside, arms half spread for a hug. Cas, who almost absentmindedly marks him, and sits his ass down at the kitchen table to pull up his tablet. “I’ll need you to reconfirm your updated profile.”

He lets his arms fall back to his side. Though the mark eases his body, Dean bristles while he closes the door. “Hey to you too, Cas.”

“I… Yes, hello, Dean,” Cas says, but persists in tapping away at the tablet. 

That frown on Cas’ forehead would be cute, if Dean hadn’t been hoping for a different kind of reunion. “I thought I already did that though?”

“You updated it, but at the start of the next heat, it’s company policy to do so face-to-face. Ensure everyone’s on the same page.”

“Company policy, huh?” he grumbles. Unimpressed, Cas quirks an eyebrow at him and, a touch bratty, Dean sinks down in the armchair, curling his legs under him, sitting up taller. With a dramatic sigh and an eye roll, he gestures majestically. “Fine, Mr. Business Man. Let’s do this.”

The nickname breaches Cas’ persona enough for a childish kind of delight to set in. The feeling gets replaced with something unexpected soon enough.

Turns out having Cas read Dean’s preferences to him out loud in _that_ voice makes up for some of the half-assed greeting.

Blushing hotly at the first hint of it, Dean squirms when he starts to slick and swallows a soft curse, as a genuine swirl of desire courses through him. It blends oddly with the pain. A strange awareness, to want to give in, while at the same time embarrassed at his body doing stuff he isn’t used to anymore, except _outside_ his heat. Completely fucked up. He adjusts himself, when Cas dead-pan lists all the shenanigans they could be getting up to, waiting patiently for Dean to confirm each and every one of them. It brings them into unnecessarily sharp focus.

By the end of it, he’s almost sorry he didn’t add sex to the list, but it seems hella awkward to bring it up now. Though he’d like to be able to, the expectations tied to doing so openly are frightening.

“Does that all coincide with your current needs and wants?”

The way Cas is looking at him has him licking at the corner of his mouth, then his lips, trying to work up enough saliva so he can speak. “Yeah,” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

There’s that delicious uptick in Cas’ eyebrow and Dean wonders if it’s physically possible to slide off of a couch. “About right doesn’t cut it, Dean.”

“It’s correct,” he says with a slight snarl to his voice.

“Are there any other changes you’d like to make?”

Dean narrows his eyes at Cas, because he _must_ be yanking his chain by now, right? But the bastard’s hidden behind his blockers and, despite his age, has that annoyingly innocent thing going for him if he wants to. “ _No_. You couldn’t remove those before you came in?”

Cas raises his eyebrows slowly, definitely smirking. He walks over to Dean and hands him the tablet. “I’ll get right to it. Sign there, please.”

He grabs the offensive appliance, griping under his breath, but happy to have this over with. Let Cas toe his professional line for all he cares. Dean almost pouts at the screen, while he signs. The cheeky ‘have fun and be safe’ pop-up makes him snort a nervous giggle.

“Done?” Cas asks.

Dean hums and purrs when Cas appears not quite in his personal space, but close enough for his scent to wrap around him like a by now familiar and favourite blanket. Like he’s putting effort behind it. Dean’s nerves are playing up, because his hand shakes slightly while he returns the tablet to Cas. He tries not to think of what he might smell like, while he watches him tuck it away safely.

All too smooth, Cas leans against the table, legs crossed at the ankles loosely.

“So do I have blanket permission?”

His brain whites out at the mere thought of giving Cas _that kind_ of blanket permission. It takes a few seconds for the teasing tone to register. He scowls, but half-hearted. Cas’ scent is definitely on the playful side. When Dean looks at him, he’s in the process of loosening his tie with both hands. But not entirely as casual as usual? With intent. That’s it. _Intent_. Oh, shit. The warmth that was already swirling generously, low in his gut, spreads easily at the sight of Cas popping his top buttons.

His breath hitches. Cas is magnetic. And a little pink in the cheeks. Ears too.

“For what exactly?” he says, voice hoarse. “Cause there were a few things on that list, Cas…”

Rolling up his sleeves above the elbows, Cas tucks his chin, looking up at Dean through his lashes, a warm, crooked smile softening his features. His heartbeat becomes palpable in several places on his body, when Cas slowly drapes the tie over his shoulders and pushes off the table. The gait he slips into gives a lavish sway to his hips and he spots the dancer easily.

Besides the revealed skin at his neck like an arrow, Cas is fully covered, but Dean’s getting hella hot under the collar, when Cas leans both hands on either side of him. The somewhat modest v is switched out for a generous eye full of collarbone and chest hair. If he squirms, it could be more, but Cas’ eyes are captivating. With a small sound, Dean inches back, pressing into the softness of the armchair, trying to catch as much of Cas as he can.

Holy hell.

Not working, cause Cas is leaning in and Dean’s eyes want to fall shut, when there’s the slightest hint of skin on skin contact until...

“A kiss, Dean,” Cas whispers, nosing gently at Dean’s temple, before swamping his vision. “Start with a kiss, if you’re amenable.”

Hmm-what-who-heya-Cas. Yes.

He tilts his head back minutely, voice thick and slip-sliding into Omega timbre. “Ve... Very. Very-anemone-amenable.”

Smirking, Cas’ eyes flash red for the briefest moment and Dean lets out a greedy little snarl. He raises his chin, Cas rolling his spine so he’s angling over Dean even more, one arm now resting on the back of the armchair. Dean’s hand searches blind and two of his fingers find purchase, slipping between three buttons, brushing over warm skin. The tie bumps into his chest softly.

Smiling at Cas’ rippling expression, Dean gives the suggestion of a tug, because they’re _so close_ and, yes, please, just kiss him already…

Not a sound. Except for Dean’s drumming ears and slow intake of air through his nose, dragging Cas’ scent along, soaking him from the inside out.

The world doesn’t slow down.

At all.

Cause Cas is demanding, this time around. A hand cradles the back of his head, fingers curling with just enough of a territorial hint around his neck, tips finding his heartbeat intimately. Cas angles his head the moment Dean’s lips part on an entirely involuntary ‘auh’ sound and licks into him. Suck on his tongue, before dipping in and christ, tiny fireworks go off inside. The kinda kiss that sends sparks dancing across his nervous system, his hips rolling on instinct, warmth pooling and loosening up tight muscles.

Dean clutches on, arms coming up around Cas, arching his back to get closer and ask for more by pressing harder into the kiss, feel Cas' stubble. _More._ He bunches up the tie in his hand, fingers sliding over the smooth fabric. Cas’ other hand slips under his shirt at his lower back and fuckfuckfuck, Dean opens up in one spine-melting gesture with a needy moan.

He pulls Cas off balance, before a few things at once happen. His butt’s pulled closer to the edge. Cas slides his knee next to Dean’s thigh, the armchair groaning under the added weight. Next he knows, Cas is gazing down at him, while he cups his face. He swallows the whimper, but only barely, and nips at Cas' lower lip. Asking. Gets exactly what he wants, when Cas kisses him again. Deep and without restraint, but somehow languid, as if he intends to take his time with Dean. And, yeah, okay, this’ll do perfectly.

He would have slid off the couch, if it wasn’t for the bulk of Cas holding him in place.

When they break apart, that comes down to a few inches and Cas looking at Dean. He scrambles to find the right word for the lights dancing in those ocean blues, but his brain is useless. Instead he huffs softly and Cas’ scent translates it for him. It’s a gooey kind of feeling that he wants to take to bed.

Ah. Word.

“Bed.”

Cas smiles, like sun rays through a deck of clouds. “As you wish.”

“Much better.”

“Hmm?”

“This greeting. Much, _much_ better. Every time from here on out.”

His heart hopscotches when Cas’ eyes flash red in response, eyebrow shooting up. “Cheeky. _Bed_.”

*

As of that moment, they spend an even more inordinate amount of time in bed or on the couch. Cas’ work, already on the backburner, is forgotten. So are their phones. He should have asked for this a lot sooner, but while they’re here, Dean’s basking in endless make-out sessions. Cas’ scent. Physically. Verbally, he’s appropriately tongue-tied. His brain’s too mushy to analyze the effects of this upgrade, but it’s definitely _different_. Cas remains his chivalrous self by not pointing out the most obvious one, namely Dean’s libido piping up. Thankfully, because it’s annoyingly confusing in and of itself, without having to navigate his own awkwardness alongside the pain.

But he wants to. Besides that kiss and each one after, Cas seems to leave the initiative up to Dean, which - given that he updated his profile - isn’t exactly how he hoped that would go. He’s been staring at Cas’ chest hair for who knows how long trying to figure out how to access those parts of his updates without having to ask for them with words.

“I was surprised to see you at my place.”

It takes him a second. “Huh? Oh, with your meds. Yeah… Jody said she gave you a head’s up. I… Sorry if I overstepped?”

“No,” Cas says. “Not at all. It was good to see you. Just didn’t expect you to show up on my doorstep alone without blockers.”

“Well,” Dean grins. “If you put it _like that_. Don’t be weird. I’ve been alone with you for my heats. I trust you, Cas. Plenty.”

He nudges Cas, far too pleased with the way Cas’ body moves around him, and squirms until he can see him. 

“I’d have punched your lights out after that kiss otherwise.”

Cas flusters, but seems more at ease, which from a professional point of view, Dean supposes makes sense. “Which one?”

“The one where you took me by surprise.”

“You mean I didn’t earlier?”

“God, you can be a smug bastard.” But Dean’s leaning in anyway, cause those lips have better things to do than make fun of him. “Why don’t you get back to work?”

“God has nothing to do with this,” Cas says, unimpressed. “But gladly.”


	22. “You have your ruts with your personnel? Or how does that work?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His Alpha pipes up with a deep, appreciative rumble, which has Dean melting against his chest, head tilted back. He flattens his palms to Dean’s abdomen, thoughts skipping two ways, but he reigns them both back in when Dean’s voice comes through.
> 
> “Why does this make it better? I mean, the pain’s still there, but why does it feel… different?”

Okay, fuck it.

It’s his fourth heat since meeting him and day three of his third heat _with_ Cas.

And as far as dates go, that’s usually the big one. He did say that to Cas. Out loud. Which got him kissed.

They’re playing chess, for fuck’s sake, and his focus hasn’t been all that. It’s been his turn forever. 

Maybe their whiplash playlist isn’t helping with its, as Cas calls it, ‘eclectic’ range. Seriously, _Whoomp (There It Is!)_ should not be followed with _Hell’s Bells_ , to then seamlessly switch to _Shimmy Shake_ and _Do You Want To_. He’s charmed with _Pony_ though, but that’s for entirely different reasons, even more so when he finds out Cas isn’t sure he’s seen the movie. Still, Cas seems to take to their blending tastes easily enough, wiggling around to any genre when he’s at ease. Which is increasingly more often.

Hella distracting.

“We’re watching _Magic Mike_ tonight,” he announces abruptly.

Cas huffs, a cute frown knitting his brow together. “Must we really?”

“You were a dancer! How can you not have seen it?”

“I’m sure Bal made me watch it, but chances are I fell asleep. Suffice it to say, I know the song.”

“Christ, how even? Tatum was a dancer himself. It’s based on his experience.”

“Tatum?”

Dean groans softly, resting his cheek against his knuckles, the chess pieces forgotten. “How are you alive, man?”

“Luck mainly.”

“I doubt it. Maybe I just wanna see you dance again,” Dean offers with a gentle tilt to his head. 

Eyes suddenly alight, Cas grins wide and gummy. “Good luck with that. You got lucky in the first place.”

Dean pouts, laying it on thick just because he can. Watching Cas’ cheeks go pink is always a special treat, even more so when he remembers that little stunt in the kitchen. His smirk gets wider, when Cas shoots him a stern glare, clearly picking up on that. “So no chick-flicks allowed, but you wanna have me dance for you?”

Dean sticks out his tongue, because he can’t come up with anything better. He’s too charmed at this point. Shaking his head, Cas gestures bossily for them to continue the game and he goes with it. His lizard brain is on active duty today though.

“So, uhh, other random question.”

Nodding, Cas doesn’t take his eyes off the board. Probably best for what Dean has in mind.

“You have your ruts with your personnel? Or how does that work?”

The words come out a little hasty and strung together. Cas looks genuinely shocked at the out of the blue question and Dean smiles as innocently as he can.

“That would be excessively unwise and unprofessional! Why would you even think that?”

Of course he takes it dead-serious. Sighing, Dean moves his Han Solo so it can knock out Cas’ Imperial Guard, and leans his head in his hand again. How is he going to make Cas catch on, he wonders, while following Cas’ slender fingers handling his ‘Queen’, Vader, which takes out one of his rebel fighters and puts R2 in danger.

A cute sound follows and Dean thinks there may be hope for them yet.

“Oh.”

Smirking he moves R2 to safety, threatening one of Cas’ Tie Fighters.

“I work with another company,” Cas eventually says. “Change up the people I rely on. With age, my ruts have mellowed out significantly.”

He tries not to let his curiosity or mild sense of disappointment leak through. Pun intended. Attention drifting, he stares at the pawns. Yesterday was hellish, but they worked their way through it. A messy night’s rest, which got them out of bed too late and so far, today’s been smoother and his system’s keeping him on that edge of _‘you know you want to’_. A constant subtle want, distracting him.

Castiel smiles, though whether at the fact that he’s about to take out Chewie or he’s picking up on what Dean’s feeling, he can’t tell. Likely both.

“Let the Wookie win, dude,” he says in mock-stern warning.

Cas’ eyebrow ticks up. “The Wookie shouldn’t have made himself vulnerable.”

“Godfuckin… At least it’s Tarkin taking him and not some stupid trooper.” He chews his lip, analyzing the board, before he settles on offence rather than defence. “Is that normal?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t watched the movies often enough to discern any patterns.”

“Jeez, Cas… I meant for your ruts to ease up.”

Another 'oh' and Dean snortlaughs helplessly. He keeps his eyes firmly on the board, but flusters from his chest to his cheeks when he can _feel_ Cas eye-balling him. Pursing his lips, he pretends to think real hard and forgets to breathe. His skin tingles under the attention and Cas drags it out a bit longer, as if he wants Dean to look up.

“Not sure either," he says. "None of them were spent with my mate.”

Leave it to Cas to just throw that out there and damn if it doesn’t successfully force Dean’s gaze up, the air wheezing out of him in one tell-tale go. 

“Mate?” he echoes, brain sparking in the most interesting ways. 

Fuck Cas' poker face, he thinks, except it ain’t true. It is with no small amount of pleasure that he becomes aware of the small tells. How Cas keeps his hand to his chin pensively to give himself an almost too casual air. The way his nostrils flare ever so subtly. The intense heat in his eyes does Dean in, when he meets them. Dean chews his lip, an involuntary smile pulling the skin taut, because all of a sudden he’s caught.

Cas looks like he’s got half a mind to drag Dean across the table. 

His shoulders shake under the breath he lets out and he’s about halfway to cursing the stars down from the heavens, when the pain hits once more. Whining dejectedly, he allows Cas to grab his hand and lead him to the bedroom, but there’s something careening through their scents that feels different.

*

He’s panting through the not-so-mismatched blend of signals he’s receiving. This is it, his brain provides, worn out under the strain. No new approach is needed. Just taking it from his all too familiar pain to something further. Something beyond the edges of their ever-expanding little universe. One touch at a time, because they make it better. He feels like a kid with a scraped knee, realizing that. Kisses make it better. Cas’ scent sputters and lurches, whenever Dean’s pain bleeds through, and Dean snarls softly as his hands vanish from his body.

“Fuck, Caassss, don’t leave,” he whines.

Chasing him blindly, he shoves Cas’ hands back under the sheet, and reaches around with one leg, hooking it behind Cas’ to draw him closer. There’s a soft nip at his shoulder, a grind against his buttocks, then his ear lobe gets sucked into Cas’ mouth. A sharp canine nibble, that has sparks shooting up under his shoulder blades. Hot exhales hit with the words.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He tries to steady his breaths, but they push out of him faster, wetter while he gulps. Large, warm hands fingerwalk across his abdomen, counting ribs. He laughs and squirms when it tickles, Cas’ chuckle instant. But then, _oh_. They dip at his hip bones, then down to his thighs where they dig in hard and his eyes flutter half-shut under the pressure. Cas works the muscles, Dean’s body twitching eagerly in response, hips rolling, hands scrabbling to get a hold anywhere. One lands against the wall above them; the other in Cas’ hair and the back of his neck. He grips tight, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter. So many touches. All of them meant to soothe and please, it’s so obvious, it hurts in that unwinding kinda way, because _it’s working_.

He snarls out a little ‘more’ and is instantly on his back, rewarded with Cas draped over him. His breath wheezes out of him when Cas towers over him and grinds them together, shamelessly staring at Dean as if he’s a sample of _something_ under a microscope. He writhes, bringing one leg up, a coy smile forming because that's what he does, it's familiar, but it melts away immediately when Cas kisses him, unexpected. He tilts and keens, opening up to let Cas explore his mouth and take his share in turn. He whines urgently, loving how Cas responds to him and descends on his neck, all heavy kisses and warm tongue. His ears humming, his heart threatens to break apart, because he _wants_ and it's terrifying. A hint of sharp teeth sends his mind reeling, wishing upon a star that this is it. More. A shift. 

It feels like it can be, when his orgasm sneaks up on him, embarrassingly fast. His eyes go wide, while it does, and he flusters helplessly under Cas’ intense gaze, hostage to his own body’s pleasure. The moment too intimate, he whimpers, sure his face gives away the overwhelming emotions he holds for Cas and no one is ready for that, least of all Dean. His hands clinging to Cas’ shoulders, he squeezes his eyes shut while he slowly comes back down from the crest, breath shallow. It's easier in the dark. They’re both panting and Cas is still very much hard against his thigh, when the idea sparks. He just needs a little moment to gather his scattered parts.

Deep voice soft like a puppy's fur, Cas reaches out first. One word, but Cas is smiling so hard, Dean can feel it even with his eyes closed. “Better?”

He laughs, cheeks thankfully at maximum blush capacity, overwhelmed by an intense sense of gratitude. Instinct pushes him there, more want oozing in, and he sits up on one elbow. Plants his palm over Cas’ heart and shoves lightly. Cas goes with it, landing on his back, arms falling wide. He props one hand behind his head, gaze raking over Dean, and he seems pleased with what he finds. Dean’s body moves sluggishly, but his mind is clearer and sharp in its intent. Cas’ dark hair is plastered to his forehead and Dean runs his hand through it softly. He tilts forward, nosing at Cas’ cheek, loving how he squeezes one eye shut in mild surprise.

“Can I?” He subtly points at Cas’ dick and glances down, licking his lips at the sight of the tented boxers.

Cas palms at himself casually. “How exactly is that beneficial to remedying your pain?”

“... I get off on it?”

“You literally just got off.” Cas squints at him hard, suspicion darkening his scent, and Dean holds quite still under the Alpha scrutiny, hope making his heart beat faster again. “Tell me, Dean…”

The commanding tone has him snapping to attention, a tightness gripping him from the base of his spine up. “Hmm?”

“How many Alphas fell for that?”

Dean pouts and glowers, distracted by Cas' stern scent. “All of them?”

With a guttural, muttered ‘ _of_ _course_ ’, Cas rubs his face, annoyance breaking through, before he looks back to Dean. “And do you honestly expect me to join their neanderthal ranks?”

Begrudgingly he gives the question some thought, but he already knows where this is going. He pouts again, while Cas’ hand cups his cheek, a thumb tracing his lower lip, which, hey, not helping if Cas isn’t gonna put out.

Because of course the one Alpha he’d be okay with railing him doesn’t fall for it.

He gives what he hopes is a casual half-shrug and drops his gaze. “I guess not. But…”

“I can tell you only offer this out of some sense of duty. Maybe even guilt," and Dean flinches at the word, which brings Cas' warm palm to his jaw, "I am here to assist you, not the other way around.”

“Mutually beneficial, Cas, ever heard of it?" he bites. "And what if I want to? I’m still horny and you can’t knot or fuck me, because that never goes well. So maybe I wanna do this for you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“I’d gladly accept if...” He trails off, face settling like marble, shutting Dean out, and for the first time, it annoys the shit out of him.

“Cas,” he snaps.

“What?”

“Will you at least kiss me some more?”

Cas contemplates it, as if it’s one of the world’s remaining math problems.

“Look, I know you think I’ve got some fucked up relationship with sex, and hell, you may have a point. Maybe. Partly. But I’m tactile, I know that much. And you… _you…_ ”

Blue eyes widening, Cas hurries to speak, perhaps worried what Dean would throw out in the open in his stammering. “Not about the kissing… The _other_ suggestion. I’d accept gladly, if… _when_ the moment’s right, Dean,” Cas says, cheeks warm. “Just… not sure that’s now?”

The rejection stings, even while a cleverer part of him realizes it isn’t. ‘When’, not ‘if’, and there’s acceptance bleeding through Cas’ scent heavily, the way he’s tiptoeing around Dean gently. Which he knows is the right thing to do, because he literally got screwed over royally too many times to count, even if Cas doesn’t know the specifics. So why does he feel like crying?

“Ahh, Dean, come here.” 

Cas opens his arms and Dean is quick to slot to his side, neither of them caring about the mess that transfers from one to the other. He closes his eyes, allowing Cas to swaddle him in his embrace, his scent reassuring. A kiss to his temple pulls a soft sound from him.

“What?” Cas asks, voice reduced to a whisper and he follows suit.

“This feels nice. Warm, like a cabin in the woods in winter. Crackling fire. You smell good _like this_.”

Cas smiles against his temple, inhaling him and, undoubtedly, his generous sass at needing to point that out. “Hmm, and you’re smelling like a cherry blossom spring, suggesting all kinds of fornication.”

Dean laughs, despite himself, which seems to please Cas. “Why don’t I get us cleaned up and you get some rest while you can."

He blows a soft raspberry, mouthing at Cas’ chest. “How come I get the only Alpha who refuses my advances?”

“Cause I’m the only one who can tell what you need?”

Dean rests his chin on his hand on Cas’ chest, letting some of his twinkling through in the semi-dark. “Do you now?”

Eyes stormy, Cas leans over to kiss him silent. It takes a good while before he actually makes it to the bathroom.

*

Dean has, in some ways, stopped hiding. Both his pain and a part of himself that seems to have unlocked after Castiel kissed him on the first day. His scent billows around Castiel intensely and, dare he hope, stops pretending they are not what they are, though aptly neither of them has said anything out loud directly. He surprised himself when he brought it up over the game of chess. The sweetness of his Omega breaches all defences Castiel thought he had up, and when did Dean become ‘his’? He’s mildly terrifying in all his glory.

He watches Dean, squirming on the couch, trying to get more comfortable, while Castiel’s on his laptop - five minutes, tops. Before Castiel can shut it down and join him, Dean gets up and walks over, huffy, annoyed sounds released with every footstep. He’s channeling some surly teenager in the way his shoulders slump, but it’s pain-driven.

Castiel turns towards him, getting ready to take Dean’s hand. Hug him.

What he doesn’t expect is the intensity of those grass-green eyes, clouded in agony and something else, before Dean turns around and sits in his lap, pulling Castiel’s arms around so they’re bracketing him.

His instincts do the rest, designed as they are for connection.

He dips his nose to Dean’s spine, drawing a line up to the hairline at the nape of his neck.

His Alpha pipes up with a deep, appreciative rumble, which has Dean melting against his chest, head tilted back. He flattens his palms to Dean’s abdomen, thoughts skipping two ways, but he reigns them both back in when Dean’s voice comes through.

“Why does this make it better? I mean, the pain’s still there, but why does it feel… different?”

“Oxytocin,” Castiel mumbles, allowing his lips to catch on Dean’s skin. “Hugs and kisses release the good stuff in your brain.”

Body shaking lightly, Dean lets out a soft chuckle. “The good stuff, huh?”

“I should know,” he says meaningfully. “It doesn’t only work when you’re in pain.”

Dean glances over his shoulder, eyes vulnerable, but remains silent rather than questioning him. Ever since he turned Dean down, he’s been trying to make sure his Omega understands it has nothing to do with him or with Castiel not wanting to. Their scents make it abundantly clear, he should think, and yet something unresolved lingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *yawns tiredly * they got to a thing! Working on smut scenes for chapters ahead.
> 
> That said, I'm also working on another fic for [Wayward Hunters Collabang](https://whcollabang.tumblr.com/). It's a new challenge, so go check it out and give them a follow if you want to be kept up to date once we start posting.
> 
> How is everyone doing? Soul, head, heart, and all that.  
> Love,  
> Mal


	23. “Alphas are on the menu.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s the matter, Dean?” Cas asks, voice coiled thick with what hits like fear.
> 
> Their instincts at odds kick in at the same time. Cas inches closer, nosing at Dean’s cheek, but he shakes his head, chest shuddering under his hiccuping breaths, and he tries to pry himself loose from what… who’s crowding him. He can’t think. His distress betrays him and Cas lets go, one hand landing between them, the knuckles grazing his chest, the other finding a loose purchase on his shoulder.
> 
> Dean gulps in a few deep breaths, casting a mystified look at Cas’ hand. “You can’t be real,” he whispers.

He squirms, hating how clammy the sheets under him feel. 

“Cas, why are you okay with this, man?”

“With what exactly?”

“Me. All this pain. This…” _Need_. The word tastes foul even without saying it out loud. “I hate feeling like this and I can only imagine how fucking pathetic it must be from the other side…”

“ _Dean_.”

The bite in that gravel has him slamming his mouth shut hard enough to make his teeth clatter. Well, shit. His eyes widen in panicky horror, as Cas cups his face tenderly, crowding him in that damned familiar way of his. Like they’ve known each other for years. Lifetimes.

He whimpers softly, when Cas’ nostrils flare, because fuck, please, no, and Cas stills. 

“Cas…”

“What do you think you smell like?”

“Nothing good,” he says, sullen.

“Dean,” Cas hums against his lips.

He resists being cradled like this, but it’s a feeble attempt, his fingers wrapping loosely around Cas’ wrists. A trembling sigh makes it out, the words in their wake a testament to how the pain is clouding his mind, because he _hurts_.

“Why would you… I don’t get it. Why do you _bother_? Why would you do this… Like some angel of the lord come swooping down to save me from hell?”

“I didn’t peg you for a religious man.”

“I ain’t. That’s the point.”

Cas fills his entire vision, soft hair tickling Dean’s forehead, and he feels so exposed, despite being fully clothed and there’s nothing bawdy close to happening. He’d prefer that. It’s easier. He knows the rules for those games, even if the odds never were in his favor. At least he understands them better. That and Cas is an amazing kisser. Among other things.

All the other stuff?

He feels like he’s going to drown and he knows exactly the shade of blue that’ll do him in.

“Good things do happen, Dean.”

A hitched inhale makes his lungs burn and he swallows hard, but the lump in his throat won’t let up. With a soft whine, he struggles against Cas’ warm hands, but all he succeeds at is bringing them closer together, his soul in search of that foothold. A lifeline. Another soul, betrayed by Cas’ heartbeat, terrifying in its mere existence. He didn’t expect to get anything close to this, let alone…

“Not in my experience.”

“Then what have we been doing when we’ve been together?” Cas asks, terribly gentle.

Dean juts out his chin, lips trembling. “ _You_ ’ve been working.”

A strange kind of guilt spikes through Cas' scent. He's rubbing soft circles at his cheekbones, the touches an attempt to settle this sudden tension between them. Dean breathes out, the sting of tears burning his eyes, while he tries to look at Cas neutrally. As if he hasn’t known this Alpha for the past four months. He looks for the rifts and chasms between them, the ones he’s undoubtedly missed while making doe-eyes. Proof that Cas isn’t what he is. Not to Dean and not as a whole. Not someone he’s grown to trust and care for. Not someone he, against all expectations, considers a friend. And more. Because if he isn’t, then he can still run for the hills. 

“What’s the matter, Dean?” Cas asks, voice coiled thick with what hits like fear.

Their instincts at odds kick in at the same time. Cas inches closer, nosing at Dean’s cheek, but he shakes his head, chest shuddering under his hiccuping breaths, and he tries to pry himself loose from what… _who_ ’s crowding him. He can’t _think_. His distress betrays him and Cas lets go, one hand landing between them, the knuckles grazing his chest, the other finding a loose purchase on his shoulder.

Dean gulps in a few deep breaths, casting a mystified look at Cas’ hand. “You can’t be real,” he whispers.

Immediately he slams his hand over his mouth, eyes wide in terror. Cas sighs and squeezes down on the muscle, as if to physically remind Dean that he is, in fact, quite real.

“Not what I meant,” he says, surprised he’s speaking at all. “I know you’re here. I’m just… waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Which would be...?” Cas asks patiently.

“Take your pick.”

“I can hardly pick if I don’t know what’s on the menu.”

Again Dean shakes his head and he closes his eyes against Cas’ imploring gaze, because he _can’t_. If he says those things out loud, it’s no longer a vague, insinuated part of his file or past and Cas will know. Inexplicably he looks Cas dead in the eye.

“Alphas,” he says wryly. “Alphas are on the menu.”

He puts his palm to Cas’ chest, finding his heartbeat, and frowns down at the gesture, while he digs into memories he prefers not to revisit. They tend to twist and take on different shapes every time he does, but he’s spurred on by a feeling much bigger than himself or his limited means to comprehend it.

“It didn’t start like this. Not as bad as this. My first heat - I think I was fourteen? - I can barely remember it. I, uhh, was a bit precocious, so Mom put me on the pill the next year.” 

Cas chuckles, relieved perhaps at Dean’s lame attempt at humor, even if it is at his own expense. Dean rolls his eyes at his younger self. 

“Precocious may even be an understatement, okay? I mean, as soon as I discovered… _all that_ , man, I wanted to try so much. Pretty sure Sam had some serious questions…”

He laughs, wiggling his nose, because there’s that burning in his eyes again and he knows he’s kinda taking the scenic route. 

“Fun didn’t last very long though. Cause one, slut-shaming curbed it… and bee, the occasional painful heat would happen? But y’know, you kinda barrel through, cause it’s the exception to the rule and you don’t wanna draw attention and I had shit to do. I was on the wrestling team. Looked after Sammy when Mom died and Dad went off the rails. Mom was the Alpha, but Dad hated weakness most, even while he was wallowing. There was no time to be in pain.”

There’s dawning understanding in Cas, as he undoubtedly starts to put a few things together. “Hotwiring cars and picking locks.”

Unable to help himself, he grins. “Got real good at hustling pool. We avoided the worst of it. Only got arrested once or twice while we were minors. I stumbled through college, trying to keep Sammy safe.”

And, _hell_ , he hadn’t meant to bring that part of his life into this, but this shit all feels connected somehow.

“Safe from your father?”

He nods a dozen times, clicking his incisors together behind his lips nervously.

“Fuck,” he exhales roughly. “I… Sorry, it’s too much.”

“No,” Cas says empathically. “You’re not. Whatever you wish to share is fine, I’m here, but don’t think for one second that you are too much. Ever.” 

A peculiar blend of stern fondness fans through Cas’ scent, wrapping around Dean lightly, and he hiccups a shaky smile. He works his tongue free from the roof of his mouth, wondering, staring, tilting into an ocean of caring patience, a dim part of him wishing for more. He nods a few times.

“Started working and moved Sam out of the house. Living with Sammy was fun, but life sorta just happened. He was studying, attending his nerd clubs and activities, I went to watch his games, and I worked a lot. There were a few… relationships, I guess I should call them, though in retrospect…”

He shrugs, anger bubbling to the surface. “I got bred more than I care to remember or even asked for," he says, gut churning with fear at the admission, "And thank fuck, none of it ever took. Maybe I can’t even. Who knows? Either way, I’d hate to have a pup with any of _them_ …”

But he wants, he thinks absurdly, and ducks his head at that painful need crystallizing on top of everything else, hurrying on before Cas decides to poke at that. Who would want pups with him?

“I’m not sure what I did wrong, but whenever the issue with my heats became clear… I dunno, they just thought they were The One, right? They’d get my ‘hysterical’ body to bend to their will, cause they were my mate. Whether I wanted to or not. Knock me up as if that would help. Well, _that_ ,” he amends. “Or they just didn’t care. Thought I was faking it to get attention. All of it always went to shit… I was either a burden or something disposable…”

He looks up at the burning scent that suddenly pushes against the edges of this moment. A wildfire of emotions he can't discern, cause his own are such a fucking mess.

“None of it was your fault,” Cas says, voice dangerously even. His fingers squeeze down on Dean’s shoulder.

He gives a shaky nod, grateful Cas keeps it simple. Honest in his words, as ever, though the red lining his blue eyes suggests there is more at play.

“Took me a while to figure out I didn’t need to roll with the punches.”

A low, angry rumble sends needles and pins dancing across his skin. “Literally?”

“A few of them, when they lost patience with my… me. And dad when he got _real_ bad.”

His heart is pounding unpleasantly in his ears, appalled at the extent to which he’s allowing Cas in, trying desperately not to think how this will affect how Cas sees him. They hold a silence and seemingly their breaths with it, Cas observing him, while Dean waits, though he’s not exactly sure what for. The other shoe. The pity. Disgust. And then Cas touches him more. A butterfly fingertip at his temple. The trace down the shell of his ear. Dean knows his own scent is begging for comfort and if all else fails, that is why Cas is here. Whether he’ll return after all’s said and done is unclear. His skin crawls under the echoes of those memories and burns under Cas’ hand.

“Cas, please, don’t,” he mutters, wincing as he pulls back.

“Dean, you need this. I will not force you, but… you can have this, at least, and me. I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not…”

There are tears trickling down Dean’s cheek, which he wipes away angrily. He sobs wetly, something deeply painful slicing through their scents as if they’re wrapped in fragile gossamer instead of the reassuring blanket he's come to associate with Cas' presence. Cas blinks and closes his eyes, inhaling without restraint, despite or maybe because of Dean’s simper. He feels chased and is bodily pulled closer, realizing abruptly they’ve come too far for him not to.

Eyes flying open, Cas stares at Dean in pained disbelief.

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

Teeth grinding, Dean pushes at his chest, not quite in anger. “Maybe I don’t _want_ to feel like I need saving.”

Cas hums, a frustratingly even-keeled sound that tells Dean nothing about what he’s thinking. For all that this conversation has drained him of what little reserves he had left, Cas feels blessedly calm. Settled almost, though the perma-squint is marring his forehead, deepening his wrinkles, and clearly there to stay for a while.

Dean’s too exhausted to pry, instead basking in the protective, borderline possessive overtones of peaty bourbon and campfire that are dominating Cas’ scent.

“You’re tired.”

He nods, eyes falling shut, but his body moves like in a dream. 

“You want touch,” Cas says.

Chuffing, he yawns, wondering why Cas is stating the obvious. He wants, but he’s beyond asking. Aware of all that aches, every muscle, every sore spot, every memory, he cants his hips to stretch his spine, finding Cas’ muscled form in his path. Relief floods him in quick bursts when those warm hands skate over his body. Gentle and searching, Cas tilts him so he’s on his back and leans over. He breathes into the feel of Cas’ lips the second they meet, parting his own, and soaks him up.

Except… One more question.

“Cas… You’re not leaving?”

“Not as long as you’ll have me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, if it wasn't for covid (and likely a bunch of other practicalities), I'd feel like renting a cabin somewhere lush and throw a bunch of us together. There's quite a few of you I've gotten to know better through AO3 and chances are we'd get along. Bunch of strangers in a cabin. Sounds like the perfect start to an episode.
> 
> We also do RPG. I'm sensing an idea forming.
> 
> Anyone game, if ever this world returns to Some Form of Functionality?
> 
> Hugs to you, darlings,  
> Mal


	24. “I’d still prefer it if Dean made the first move.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bal raises his glass at him in a quiet toast. “That can’t have been easy. Yet you also smell very pleased.”
> 
> He rubs his forehead. “Because I am. What Dean told me… It finally feels like he trusts me and maybe, just maybe he’ll start to believe good things can happen to him. Maybe we’re becoming...”
> 
> “More?”
> 
> “Friends,” he says quickly. “I hope.”
> 
> “I’m straining my eyes to see the downside to all this.”

His head's too full. So far, he's managed not to ask Nick or Lee for details about Dean's past lovers. No guarantee the boys would have them. Guaranteed Castiel is better off not knowing. It was infinitely more difficult to leave Dean this time around. Regardless of how much material comfort he left him with, he wanted to stay for other reasons. But Dean didn't ask, so he didn't offer. He looks to his company across the table.

Balthazar lets out a satisfied hum after tasting the wine and smiles at the waiter, who pours their glasses generously full.

“I appreciate you inviting me out to dinner, Cassie, but this last minute, let’s not pretend there’s nothing going on. You still smell like the man. What happened?”

“He opened up.”

“How dreadful.”

“This is promising,” Castiel grunts. “About what happened to him.”

Bal raises his glass at him in a quiet toast. “That can’t have been easy. Yet you also smell very pleased.”

He rubs his forehead. “Because I am. What Dean told me… It finally feels like he trusts me and maybe, just maybe he’ll start to believe good things can happen to him. Maybe we’re becoming...”

“More?”

“Friends,” he says quickly. “I hope.”

“Sure, _friends_ ," Bal drawls. "Then I’m straining my eyes to see the downside to all this.”

“The downside is that I’m way too invested! I barely managed to leave him."

Bal sighs, while he tucks into his salmon. “Shall I bring out a whip so you can chastise yourself adequately?”

“Charming, Bal.”

“Please,” he shrugs, talking around his food delicately. “So you like him. You’ve been fond of clients before, especially vulnerable cases like this one. We all have.”

“Not like this. He isn’t just a _case._ I need to hold the line or I’ll be just like the ones that hurt him.”

A generous amount of exasperated sass seeps into Bal’s expression, while he cocks his head. “Except you’re emphatically _not_ and Dean knows that, or he wouldn’t have confided in you.”

Cas waves his speared piece of steak at Bal. “ _You_ didn’t see his face… Dean doesn’t talk easily, but he feels more acutely than most. Last thing I want to be is responsible for another Alpha added to his list.”

“God, you’re such a romantic, even after all these years.”

“I was,” Castiel says with a reluctant smile.

“You still are, though right now you’re channeling Friedrich’s _Wanderer_ a bit too much and we're angling more for that rare, joyful Wordsworth poem. You know, the leaping heart one. Would you like me to hold up a mirror so you could see your face? That overexcited light in your eyes every time you talk about him? Or the Alpha fury at what’s been done to Dean?”

He was hoping he’d kept more of a lid on the latter, but Bal knows him too well. 

“No, thank you. I don’t need proof. I’m aware. You’re here, because I need you to help me put my feet back on the ground.”

“Uh- _huh_. Because I’m the one you turn to for sensible, proper advice, especially when it comes to your singlehood.”

“Who else? Gabe? Lucifer?”

“Jody.”

“She didn’t pick up.”

Bal laughs, his face wrinkling with the self-awareness of the sound. “So I'm your second choice. Perhaps you need to reassess your circle.”

For a few moments, they eat in silence, Castiel now wondering what Jody would say. Considering the cheeky expression on her face when he confronted her about Pharmacy Gate, he doubts she’d be much more sensible than Balthazar.

“Does _Dean_ like _you_?” 

Castiel’s heart tumbles funnily, hope crowding him from all sides. A smile breaks through against his will, carried on a helpless sound of denial. All it does is provoke another snort from Balthazar.

“Well, that answers that.”

“Just because he likes me doesn’t mean anything else,” he says. “Not to mention he’s prone to expressing his gratitude for the wrong reasons.”

“Like being treated right?”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t be an assuming prick, just because you’re so willing to throw yourself on this excessively unnecessary sword.”

He chews his food slowly, an icy glare freezing the air between him and Bal considerably. His friend idly taps his nose, sniffs and picks up his glass, giving it a swirl. “What? Feet back on the ground not working out the way you hoped it would?”

“Not really, no.”

Gaining steam, Bal makes an exaggerated pensive face. “On the other hand, he did show up on your doorstep when you were ill. He had no reason to do so.”

“Jody meddled. And likely that misplaced sense of obligation, because I caught it from him.”

“How I wonder?” Balthazar winks. “Perhaps he picked that tendency up from you, trying desperately to toe that professional line, while your Alpha and therefore you know better."

His heart breaks all over again, remembering Dean basically suspected him of only doing what he is getting paid for. That Dean thinks he is nothing but a client, a fear that clung to the back of his throat on his elevator ride down and is ruining his food.

"Gratitude isn’t a bad thing, Cassie. Doing what we do, we sometimes know people better than their closest friends and family. We see them at their most vulnerable, we accept them as they are and the bond that forms is as real as any other.”

“He was scared it wasn’t real,” he blurts out.

“Ugh, you two annoy me to no end. And you tried to make him believe you are. You’re too old for this kind of self-denial.”

He flinches and warms up at Bal’s words in equal measure. Dean’s empathy. His hug in the kitchen. That suspended moment, lifting them out of the arrangement. He’s never lacked for support, Jody, Gabe and Bal are ample proof of that, but when Dean hugged him after that little glimpse of his past, he definitely lost a part of himself.

“Once again, I am not in denial. I want to make sure Dean is safeguarded.”

“All I’m hearing is he’s taken away your reason for maintaining your distance. As long as Dean didn’t trust you, you were obliged to hold your distance. Not only for his sake, but your own.”

“You’re making it worse now,” he faux-complains, but he’s got his nose to the ground, following the trail. You'd think people get smarter with age. Don't let your elders fool you.

“I’m so sorry. Was I not supposed to? You’re a fool, if you ask me, and you did by inviting me here, so joke’s on you.”

“I’d still prefer it if Dean made the first move.”

“Ah,” Balthazar smiles, “But you’d like him to _make_ it. This conversation is finally starting to make sense. Who says he hasn’t yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? You can sometimes be a bit dense, Cassie.”

He laughs, a sudden burst of energy that shakes his frame. “Oh, fuck me, you were right. We haven’t done this in too long. Do you want dessert? I'm craving something.”

“Something," Bal guffaws. "I was wondering when my reward was going to be offered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a stressful day for some (well, year tbh, but who is keeping track -_-). Partner is from the US. In some ways for all, because of impact. Europe has decided to light a few fires in a few places again too.
> 
> So... today is a short chapter. Considering posting a second, short chapter today, because it paves the way to a bigger one with fanart on Friday.
> 
> And maybe people need it? I don't know. What you say?
> 
> Huzzah for Bal by the way.
> 
> Love,  
> Mal


	25. "I have an unusual suggestion."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >> I have an unusual suggestion.
> 
> << Do you even do social cues. Way to sound ominous there. No context whatsoever.

Castiel sends out the text before he can give it much more thought. It is what it is and there’s no other way around it, unless he lets Dean spend his heat with someone else. And that…

No.

Just no.

Castiel frowns at the glib words. He thinks he knows Dean well enough by now to peg this as deflection. Especially since they’ve clearly crossed into what they’d both call ‘moral grey areas’. He is, however, getting exactly what he wants out of this, so he isn't sure how to address the issue of how comfortable Dean truly is with the suggestion without ruining his chances of a positive outcome.

Exactly what he wants and more. Castiel has given up on trying to scold himself into obedience, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from acting up now and then, ironically even more so when Dean gets all cooperative. Too trusting. He calls the construction manager to inform them of the situation, so they can steer clear of the house. No, he doesn't even bat an eye when he proclaims 'his mate' is in heat and they need privacy. All that's left is to make sure everything's perfect by the time Dean arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people already prodded through the comments, so here is the second chapter for today. (Yes, I mucked with that app again.) Hope it can divert a bit and make you curious for the next one.
> 
> Much love to you and yours,  
> Mal


	26. “You’re not in heat yet…”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Bal to pour over the numbers, Castiel walks to his front door, brain buzzing with the effort of the past hours, and freezes as soon as he opens it.
> 
> “Dean?” he sighs in wonder.
> 
> “Cas.”

Dean rereads their text messages before bed several times. Every time he _knows_ he’s smiling like an idiot.

Maybe he should have given it some more thought. He texted Sam, quietly expecting his brother to put up a fight, but strangely he didn’t. Just went along with it in the most accepting way, making Dean feel kinda fuzzy. Some mild teasing, before their conversation trickled into school talk and their holiday plans.

It’s simply that Dean’s gotten to the point where he refuses to settle for anything less than what he’s had with Cas. Even if that means he has to shell out money for it for the rest of his days. He’s also terribly, scarily into spending his heat at Cas’ place. Having Cas here for his heats is logical and part of the deal. He’s never known it any other way. This change of pace fits in snugly with the kiss in Baby. He’ll be in Cas’ bed, using his bathtub and rolling in his sheets. The thought of being that steeped in Cas and leaving his own mark in turn has him jittering out of his skin.

Except that he really wishes he could be anything but crippled with pain for the occasion. There’s a notion that’s been rattling around in his skull. Something he wants to do. Needs to do. Before being around Cas resets his braining skills and another heat passes at the snap of a finger.

“God, fucking Alphas,” he mutters.

One very specific Alpha in particular. And that’s the idea, he thinks, snickering nervously at his own joke, because the other stuff is way too serious and intense to say out loud just yet.

*

Leaving Bal to pour over the numbers, Castiel walks to his front door, brain buzzing with the effort of the past hours, and freezes as soon as he opens it.

“Dean?” he sighs in wonder.

“Cas.”

He squints, confusion blooming quick and fast, alongside that brimming sense of elation he’s come to associate with Dean. His eyes rake over Dean’s form, clad in a lavender plaid shirt and comfy jeans, and his heart flutters helplessly. This is _more_ than one day early.

“You’re not in heat yet…”

Dean does that cute quick head shake that makes Castiel smile. “Nope. I… Uhh, I guess I was panicking.” Dean winks, but something is off, because he drops his gaze nervously.

Well, _that_ ’s a blatant lie.

“Dean… I can tell you’re not being truthful.” When it became so easy to spot the lie in Dean’s body language, he’s not sure, but there’s no mistaking it now and he searches Dean for genuine signs of distress. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

Dean rolls his head back, his whole body shifting from unease to attitude. “Jeez, yes, I’m fine, Cas.”

“Then why are you here already?”

Apparently a question that sends Dean’s scent stuttering anxiously. And why is he bare again? He palms at the back of his neck. His Alpha whines in unsubtle suggestion to wrap Dean in his arms.

“I… There’s stuff… I mean…”

Castiel falls silent, tilting his head, trying hard to understand him. Dean may as well be speaking Latin right now for all the sense he’s making both with words and scent. He looks extremely young and vulnerable, his green eyes wide when he gazes up through his lashes, somehow smaller than he is. His tired brain struggles to catch up. There’s something he wants from Castiel, but what? 

“Dean, come inside.”

Dean runs both hands over his head, scratching a trail from the sides to the front. “Nu-uh. I gotta say this. Then you can make up your mind.”

At a loss, he nods and stares, because the urgency that vibrates off Dean is palpable enough for his Alpha to get unsettled. The conversation with Balthazar springs back into focus. “I’m listening.”

“There’s things...people… feelings that I want to experience,” Dean says. His voice trickles into whispered melodious territory, his face relaxing until it’s unguarded. The rest of him remains tense, fingers fidgeting. “Differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time.” 

Castiel’s mouth goes dry and he swallows reflexively. With every word, Dean plucks at his soul with a little more intent, drawing out a hope he’d been keeping under wraps. Dean’s looking frightened as if he expects him to slam the door. About the furthest thing from his mind, so he nods once in encouragement.

“I… I’m just starting to think that maybe there’s more to it all than I thought.”

One too many ideas set off like fireworks at once. His hand shoots out to the door to get some kind of material hold on the moment, before he simply grabs a hold of Dean. The brain fog, instantly gone. He rises to his full length, Dean mimicking him on instinct, looking first surprised, then appreciative as he tilts his chin up. He blinks, lashes so pretty in the sunlight. A whole string of eager suggestions line up. Pull Dean into his arms. Pin him against the door. And when it finally hits, kiss the fear of rejection - _that’s_ what he’s sensing! - out of Dean. Words. He may need words.

He never gets to settle on an option.

*

Dean studies Cas’ face, but the guy’s an infuriating blank again, and his inability to read him is likely down to the nerves overwriting his braining skills. Cas’ fingers drum the front door softly in that absent-minded way of his, except his eyes are scarily focused on Dean. His leg bounces and Dean’s echoes it in commiseration, unsure what else he can say. What _more_ he can say, besides the dreaded obvious.

The way Cas works his lips without saying a word distracts him, because, yes, his heat is imminent, but not here yet, so it isn’t interfering with what he’s feeling. And he’s feeling so much, including Cas’ scent lapping at every inch of his skin with every sound he isn’t making. Now the guy loses his ability to speak? It's as if he’s shattering from the inside out, light breaking through the cracks. A soft Omega whine is released on the air, because he wants to kiss Cas so much, it hurts, even when something flutters free wildly. All these words are just that, words, and they seem so insufficient, he surrenders to the urge he’s been fighting since the moment Cas opened the door.

Brazenly, recklessly, he surges forward, a touch clumsy, because he is being flayed alive by his want, but then he’s got his lips on Cas’, who is warm and soft and pliant for those heartbreaking few seconds where he fears being pushed off, and then he _isn’t_ , and Cas does that demanding thing again… Dean opens up, his knees giving out when Cas takes control and claims his mouth in a deep, sinful kiss, his large hands cupping Dean’s face. They collide with the door, Cas' arms bracketing him safely, the urgency with which he kisses Dean back sending his feet scrambling for a decent purchase.

They separate too quickly and he whines through a laugh of pure relief at what he finds in Cas’ expression. A mixture of that familiar aggravation, but everything else is _open_ like Dean hasn’t seen him before, except in those few hopeful moments where Cas thought he wasn’t looking. He swallows, when Cas’ ocean blues become storms under a knitted brow, and he’s swept up remorselessly. He presses his palms to Cas' t-shirt, fondling the soft burgundy fabric.

"I think it’s high time you stop paying me.”

“Huh?” he says eloquently.

“I think we’re well past service work,” Cas says, breath ragged, looking all too smug while he noses in to nip at Dean’s mouth. “The paid kind anyway.”

Dean’s cheeks heat up and he shoves at his chest. Cas smirks, one corner of his mouth coming up dangerously, flashing a canine, and holy hell, Dean suspected the Alpha had it in him, but where has he been hiding this? A giddy snicker escapes him, when Cas pushes off the door, towering over him, and he hoists Dean up in one quick move. His giggle escalates to a full on belly laugh.

“What _is_ it with you and picking me up?”

But he relishes the feel of Cas’ strong arms holding him, seemingly without effort. The way Cas is beaming up at him even more. Softly he dips in, kissing the tip of his nose, and blows a raspberry against his lips, relief and aggravation at war. They laugh, sharing breaths and quick, badly aimed kisses.

“Oh, what an absolutely lovely sight! Isn’t the lad a week early though?”

Instead of letting go, he wraps his legs around Cas, working his thighs, looking up to the intruder. The effect of his glare may be somewhat off, while Cas bounces him to get a better grip. A small yelp fights its way out when those hands cup his ass. Eventually Dean registers the tall, dirty blonde man leaning up against the wall and eyeing them with way too much amused interest.

“Does everyone keep track of my heats?”

The guy makes wide, innocent eyes at them, fingers splayed elegantly to his chest. 

“Who, _me_? Not at all, darling, but for some unfathomable reason they’ve become important to him and they crop up in conversation easily.” Cas snarls out a small, warning ‘Bal’, but _Bal_ doesn’t let up. “Can’t imagine why, for the life of me.”

Dean juts out his chin, oozing enough sass to give Sam a run for his money. Under him Cas rumbles in amused approval. “You’re not Gabe. Only Gabe gets to be this annoying.”

The smile that gets is softer and charming, Dean has to admit. “Wait until you meet Luci. Name’s Balthazar. I’m Cassie’s bookkeeper and former colleague at _Brush_. And friend, I suppose. Call me Bal. Lovely to meet you. It’s been in the making a while.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “Agreed.”

He stares down at Cas as if to check he’s still there, whose smile has gone full on supernova. The whole shabang, his eyes crinkling adorably, while he noses at Dean’s cheekbone. Dean shamelessly inhales their blending scent. Cas casts Balthazar a not-so-convincing apologetic look.

“I think it’s time you’re off.”

“Oh, really? I thought we’d sit out back and get to know each other a bit.”

“Forget it,” Dean says on a tight little snarl.

“I know,” Bal laughs. “God, you’re as gullible as Cassie. Have fun now that you’ve finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

Balthazar groans and waves a hand at them. “Give us a sign of life in the next two weeks, if you’d be so kind!”

Dean wonders why he leaves through the back door, until he hears the rumbling sound of a motorcycle engine. Cas puts him back to his feet, lifting his hand at his friend. Bal taps two fingers to his helmet in passing and Dean waves, reeling slightly from the last minutes. As soon as Balthazar’s out of sight, he casts a furtive glance at Cas. He ran out of words, got himself kissed stupid and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. He chews the inside of his cheek, caught on the grey in Cas' stubble and how he wants to kiss him again.

Narrowing his eyes, Cas crowds him against the door, stealing said kiss. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“You gonna service me for free?” he teases.

Cas' eyebrows rise gently and everything about his Alpha softens. “I’ll love you. If I can be so up front about that.”

He almost swallows his tongue, confronted with breathtaking earnestness. A string of old reflexes kicks in.

_You don’t know me._

_I ain’t what you need._

_You’ll regret it._

_I’ll only let you down._

_You deserve better._

_I’m scared._

They go quiet under Cas’ reassuring, hopeful scent influence. There’s a delicious Alpha touch to his eyebrow, that melts Dean’s mind. Or his heart.

“Yeah,” he croaks. He reaches for Cas, slipping his fingers between the buttons on his polo shirt and gives him what he hopes is a loving, open look, his smile turning a bit wet when he finds his voice back and pulls him in. “Only if you’ll let me love you back.”

“How very chick-flick,” Cas says with a soft smile, which takes the worst sting out of it. Dean glowers fondly, because he’s right. It is all excessively chick-flick, but while he has the nerve to believe it, he may as well say it. 

He already knows not every day’s gonna be smooth like this, but while the moment's as smooth as a lake at dawn, he lets himself be guided inside, neither of them letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [An Element of Blank](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23913517) roughly fits after this one! Probably a good few days later. You don't need to have read it to make sense of this story, but it's where it all started, because those two wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> This is a much softer Dean than canon, I guess. I like to think in some ways this is what Dean could be, when he allows himself to be taken care of and loved. Also, SPOILERS, so NOT amused by 15x18, hence why these two get to be happy and together. And just, FYI, this dialogue was written LONG before I watched the episode (Europe here). But yeah, Cas saying "I love you". Yes.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around so long and being so patient! They're finally getting there.  
> Hugs,  
> Mal


	27. “Willing to test that?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t they say, uhm…”
> 
> A delightful swirl of shyness clouds up Dean’s scent and Castiel squints, because it’s adorable and he desperately wants to know, his nostrils flaring to catch the subtleties.
> 
> “Say what, baby?”
> 
> A tender shudder courses through the body underneath him. “That sex with a mate can help alleviate pain?”

Castiel kisses down his chest and stomach slowly, tongue splayed wide to lick the salt off. Dean’s legs have a tight grip on his flanks and the tugs at his hair increase in both strength and frequency. His hands hook around Dean’s thighs and he tugs, pulling a soft hiccup from his mate. He growls softly against Dean’s navel, relishing the giggles and blissfully bright scent that releases. No point pretending he isn’t hooked on this.

Or that Dean’s mind isn’t wandering off somewhere curiously interesting.

“Dean?”

“What?”

“I’m listening.”

Dean huffs, his stomach jumping to meet Castiel’s lips. “How’d you…?”

“Perhaps best to stop wondering about that…” He glances across the endless freckled planes of Dean’s torso, hooded green eyes finding his.

“Or not,” Dean mutters enigmatically. 

He knits his brow together in a mute question, loving how that pulls at Dean.

“Don’t they say, uhm…”

A delightful swirl of shyness clouds up Dean’s scent and Castiel squints, because it’s adorable and he desperately wants to know, his nostrils flaring to catch the subtleties.

“Say what, baby?”

A tender shudder courses through the body underneath him. “That sex with a mate can help alleviate pain?”

He chuckles deeply, because the blush that blooms from Dean’s chest rapidly travels up his neck to his face. If he didn’t choose this moment to drop his head back, he’s sure he could see the tips of his ears turning pink. As it is, he drinks in the view of Dean’s flushed chest, and plants kisses to stop himself smiling. It doesn’t work. Closing his eyes, he breathes in, picking out the little wisps that make up Dean’s scent.

He believes it and betrays it in the same moment with the sound that spills from him as he mouths over Dean's stomach.

“I’ve heard of it,” he says softly. “The same way a mate’s semen or slick can.” He waits a few pounding heartbeats, caught on the almost hallucinatory quality of the moment. “A true mate’s anyway.”

Dean moves, prompting him to do the same and his face reappears, forest-green eyes wide open in nervous hopefulness. “Really?”

“That’s the story.”

“Are you, umm…” He wiggles under Castiel’s hands and it’s difficult not to let Dean’s alluring fragrance make the decision for him. “Willing to test that?”

He laughs, a deep, pleased sound, because Dean’s so beautiful. Strangely innocent in some ways, for all the experiences he’s had. Slowly, he noses up Dean’s chest, losing little parts of himself on the way up.

“Which theory?”

“All of them?” Dean hums diplomatically.

“Perhaps when you’re not suffering such bad cramps,” Castiel whispers.

Dean frowns and pouts at the same, squirming temptingly which in this proximity is never innocent, a stubborn quality setting in when he wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist. “But I can take it.”

He plants his hands at those beautiful hips, fingers curling possessively. “The idea is you don’t _have_ to take anything anymore, whatever that means in the world you come from.”

Furious at those who paved the path before him, his tone is harsher than he intends it to be, regret instantly on its heels, when Dean’s scent is soured by shame. Castiel is quick to push himself up and over so he’s next to Dean and embraces him.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“Then how _did_ you mean it? I’m _asking_ and since we’re out of that damned arrangement…”

A mutinous, slightly cross-eyed glare is shot his way and he smiles at the unsubtle suggestions skating through Dean’s scent, his body responding of its own volition. He can’t prevent the moan pulled from him, as he bares his teeth at Dean.

“Which means… I can now rail you as I see fit?”

Dean’s breath hitches delightfully, his chin pushing into Castiel’s chest when he tilts and fidgets. He’s taken aback when Dean’s blown-wide pupils come into focus, the start of a roguish smile pulling at those beautiful lips.

“Dunno if it’s as you see fit, though curious to see how that might work. But _yes_ to the railing bit. You’ve tested my patience enough.”

Castiel laughs, a delirious high pitch to it, and rakes his hand through his hair. “Oh, _I_ tested _your_ patience?”

“Dude, you were annoyingly zen throughout all my heats! Very attracted to me didn’t translate as much as I’d have liked. Don’t tell me you’ve been pent up.”

He stares at Dean for a few intense heartbeats, a slow smile growing ever wider. Dean’s expression ripples as it does, eyes lighting up, because he _knows_. Abruptly he decides. Giving his Alpha the room, Castiel flips them, throwing his weight and strength into it. He snarls against Dean’s throat, nipping, and relishes when Dean’s legs bracket him once more without holding back. A delectable groan deteriorates into Omega territory smoothly. Warm and sweet, pulling at him to dip in.

“You may underestimate the effect you have on me,” he says, voice suddenly gone hoarse. 

As if the rest of his body isn’t giving him away, when he rolls his hips against Dean’s to pull responses from him. The whine he gets feeds his Alpha generously and he grazes his teeth along the column of Dean’s neck, easing in at the clavicle, his fingers gripping at the back of Dean’s hair. His mate’s breathing ratchets up easily, his body all too willing under his touch.

“I have no idea of your preferences, besides what was in your file,” he says honestly.

Dean’s breath explodes next to his ear huffily, arms strong around him. “How long has it been since you’ve fucking done this, Cas?”

“Not that long,” he grumbles, pulling back.

“Not that,” Dean says with a fond eye roll, patting his shoulder as if he’s a bit special. And Lord help him, he is. “ _This_. Us. Anything that _wasn’t_ an arrangement.”

“Oh…” He chews his lip, squinting for a moment, and amends with a gentle cock of his eyebrows. “A while.”

Palming at his cheek, until his fingers catch on Castiel’s stubble, Dean snortgiggles. “A while, huh?” His smirk bleeds wider with every passing second, a deep sense of amusement at Castiel’s expense swirling up around them, but it feels soft like a spring rain, so he can’t be bothered to be annoyed. Dean’s thumb catches on his lip and he kisses it, provoking warmth on his cheeks. “Honey, you’re the one who said I had to stop paying you, so how about you let go of the rules, the lists, the preferences that came with that and just… try me?”

Chuffing at the unsubtle remark, Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but Dean cuts him off, fingers pressed to his lips. “Look, I’m even using words and I promise I’ll keep doing so, if I need to. I mean, at some point, if we _ever_ get to this -” Dean flicks his tongue over his canine teasingly, when Castiel scowls at the taunt, “- I may lose some of my language skills. But come on, Cas, I wanna… know. You. And I can tell you want to."

Whatever his face decides to land on likely holds the line between desperation and scolding, but fire erupts across his skin at the naked truth of Dean’s words.

“Trust your nose, will ya? And me,” Dean adds petulantly.

*

Oh, fuck him sideways, gently, pound him into the mattress, and every other way that’s possible without defying gravity. Cas gave in, alright, and this is just a massage. Or foreplay. The edges are blurring rapidly nor does he really give a rat's or any other rodent's ass about semantics anymore. Panting, he grips the sheets tighter, cheek pressed into the mattress. Ankles and calves and knees shouldn’t be that sensitive, yet every touch sends trembles up whatever limb or part of him Cas is lavishing attention on. It was almost a relief when Cas got to more familiar territory and it felt less like being worshipped.

Cas’ fingers dig into his glute muscles without mercy, hitting spots Dean forgot existed, and the sounds ripped from him are involuntary, baseless and vicious, echoing dimly in his own skull, as if filtered through water, every time Cas hits a mark. And there are many. So many marks on his increasingly demanding body, ever since this started. He squirms under the arduous touches, formidable enough to remind him of what his body can do. What he wants done to him. Every gesture, push and pull he makes is meant to spur Cas on and it’s working. It all hurts beautifully, short breaths falling from his lips. 

And then Cas makes it through the blood rushing in his ears, all honeyed praise and dirty, rhetorical questions in his _Alpha_ voice. Maybe he should have known the second he heard it over the phone. His legs spread wider of their own volition at the subtlest hint from Cas. Dean cants his hips, searching for that same spot, almost sobbing when Cas obliges his wordless request in turn, and he howls as the pressure increases, electricity shooting up from his tailbones, the sound muffled in the pillow.

A teasing nip at the back of his neck pulls a yelp from him. When he looks back, he finds Cas’ darkened eyes over his shoulder. “Don’t hide, little one. Let me hear you.”

It isn’t even a request. Dean curses, then simpers reedy and wet into their sloppy kiss, uncoiling, and presses his forehead to the pillow when Cas gets back to work. His chest lifts off the mattress marginally to let in some air, because he’s sweating buckets. He humps into the mattress in urgent, shallow thrusts, stuck in place, floating on that edge of _wanting_.

He’s muttering stuff endlessly, most of them Cas’ name, ‘more’ and ‘fuck, don’t you dare stop’. Strong, ardent hands hold him bodily enthralled, mind wondering what else Cas can decipher and unwind. Droplets trickle down his temples, gather between his shoulder blades, or is that Cas’ hair. 

“Ahhnn,” he groans, when, yes, that _is_ Cas’ weight, the hardness of his hip and shaft pressing into Dean’s ass briefly, before he kisses every one of his vertebrae all the way down.

The pitch of his voice goes embarrassingly high, when Cas’ breath teases and he spends some time doing everything except what Dean’s angling for. Until he lets rip a bleary string of curses and Cas chuckles, the bastard, a thick flavour of smug arousal on the air. His thighs tremble when Cas licks a warm stripe through his slick. Working his arms, Dean holds himself up, tilting forward. Ass up, he’s aware of his Omega basking in the glow of Cas’ Alpha. So fucking hot, he thinks when he twists around to see and Cas comes into focus, pink tongue flicking out to lick slick off his lips idly, ocean eyes stormy and blessedly focused.

“Sonova _bitch_ ,” he groans, “Keep going.” And Cas obliges, Dean riding back in search of more, of what will take him further apart, but not yet. A strangled ‘fuck’ is wrenched out, when Cas’ arms come around and under, nimble fingers teasing his nipples, and he’s securely pinned. His hands bunch up the sheets.

He moans out Cas’ name, long, winded, going breathier with every lick, louder when Cas sucks and plunges in deep. His blood sings like violin strings under Cas’ hands, the cresting that’s building amplified by the sharp twinges flicking his nipples. Plucks at the buds and twists them until he squirms. He simpers at the sparks that course through him, the unsavory noise of Cas’ lapping him up without restraint cutting through the ratcheting desire. Slick drips down his thighs. Cas chases it with a shameless slurp and laughs, when Dean violently struggles against that abandonment, hums deeply as he sucks down on Dean’s rim again before spearing in. He surrenders to instinct, hips moving of their own accord. Toes curling, an impending sensation picks up. His hands scramble for Cas, finding his forearms, then his elbows and he _pulls_ , nails digging in. Dean’s vision, already narrowed, goes blurry and collapses in on itself, when he drops into the pillow cheek first. He closes his eyes, deaf to his own voice, his spine going liquid when his orgasm hits hard, and years’ worth of tension seems to leave him while Cas works him through it.

Panting, he blinks, his lashes wet, and turns his face into the pillow on a hoarse, relieved whine. His legs feel like rubber, when Cas releases them and he collapses into his own mess. There’s that beautiful moment of a chill creeping up his back and then Cas drapes himself over him, kissing between his shoulder blades up to his neck. Teeth sink in suggestively and he bucks his hips, renewed desire pooling quick and dirty.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Hmmmm… I will.”

Cas sounds charmingly smug, their scents blending so strongly his head’s spinning, and he chuckles, the timbre low because of the fucking glorious weight on him. Large hands curl around his hips and Cas ruts against him, dropping filthy suggestions to Dean’s ear. 

"Fuck,” he echoes. “You've got a mouth on you."

Dean reaches around in search of his ass but lands at his flanks, already boxers pushed off of him while he works to meet him. Cas’ cock slips between his thighs and he whimpers at the wet noises, a pressure so tight and thrumming it’s giving him ideas. He relishes the feel of his Alpha’s weight, their fingers lacing together, sweaty palms to the back of his hands, pinning him, and the debauched sounds Cas is releasing to the air. They’re pulled taut once more, finding a rhythm. For all he knows it lasts mere minutes or an hour, until he’s fit to burst and wondering why Cas isn’t filling him up yet.

“Hnng… Hell, do that again,” he pants, trying to focus on the idea. “Cas, honey… I wanna… after this…"

A curious sound suggests Cas is actually listening to his rambling in the midst of this.

"Ca… Can I ride you?”

The loveliest growl yet lands at his shoulder when Cas lurches back. He breathes deep as he rolls over and laughs at the sight above him. Trying hard to control himself, he bites down on his lip and stretches under Cas' loving touch.

His face and scent doing the talking for him, Cas lays back, offering himself to Dean, which is new. And delightful. His hands follow Dean’s every move, a touch of guidance to them. But Dean knows exactly how this part of the equation works.

So why is he shaking like it is his first time?

When he sinks down on Cas, they take it slow, but the tight fullness is instant. Little sounds are wrenched out while he moves and once more he is grateful for Cas' patience. Because this has been a while. He laughs when the mirror of that sentiment kicks in, blushing as Cas' eyebrows go up in awe and he’s swaddled in what he always believed love was supposed to be. Cas’ thighs are strong, easily holding Dean, but the tremble in his hands is there all the same.

Dean inhales the blend of their juices and rolls his hips. Plants his hands on Cas' chest, mesmerized by the way the light plays across his sweaty skin. Cas’ fingers curl around his wrists, while they feel each other out, but that doesn’t last very long. His own eagerness unleashes a part of Cas that he was holding back, because he flexes under his palms and thrusts. Dean chuffs involuntarily, pleasure, gratitude and something elusive extended to Cas, before he moans deeply.

“Oh, god, I can feel your knot growing,” he mumbles. “Ahhnnn, mngg, Cas…”

Fear, spurred on by unwelcome memories, hits for a moment and Cas instantly eases up. He whimpers and shakes his head, grinding down to feel his knot catch on his rim again.

"Don't stop…"

"You're…"

He snarls, the beautiful vision of Cas below him spurring him on. "I said don't stop, Alpha… I wanna feel… you..."

The last word evaporates on a deep sigh. Cas' eyes spark intensely red in the semi dark. Something deeply cherishing billows up around them, as Cas tilts his head, confusion seeping through. “You’ve been knotted before…”

“Knotted plenty," he huffs through a moan when Cas knocks a breath out of him, more on accident than with intent. "Just not… never like this… always face down… their pleasure, fuckfuckfuu... Cas… _honey..._ ”

The word gets drawn out like its namesake, golden liquid sunlight stretching and dripping. Cas holds him by his hips, giving him something he never realized he wanted until now. Their eyes meet and hold, and he smiles, because fuck, he’s loving everything about this, even while he might fall apart.

“Take what you want, Dean. Take your time… your pleasure,” Cas whispers. “You’re beautiful like this…”

He slowly rides Cas, grinding down on him, relishing how mesmerized his mate looks. In truth, he is relieved Cas is into this as much as he is. Deriving pleasure from them. He lets Cas slip out and slides over him in slow, long strokes, slick spreading everywhere, teasing sounds out of Cas almost accidentally, soaking up every second of this.

Cas’ red gaze is hot on his body, his face vulnerable and yet… intense heat radiates off of him. Dean glides his hands down his flanks, lacing his fingers through Cas’ at his hips. He believes he is going to burst into flames if he doesn’t let up or come soon. Or maybe this is where he can stay for a while. In a suspended state of ecstatic stammering, his language reduced to nothing but baseless sounds. He hasn’t felt this free in his own body in years. Slick and sweaty, encased in Cas’ arms, when he surges up and latches onto Dean’s neck, thrusting up, harsh and shallow.

He’s in his heat. He’s _here_ , in his body, somehow connected. Cas licks, nips and kisses at every part of him he can reach, each touch leaving stinging marks. Lost. Lostlostlost, he pants and keens, until his throat is hoarse, and Cas exhales hotly into his mouth, air rushing, their breathing syncs up. In, out, like two solar systems coming into being, stars being born, colors swirling. Stupidly fancy thoughts to be having while he’s being railed by an excessively kind and dirty-mouthed Alpha, but here he thinks he’s starting to understand _something_.

Cas pulls him back in the here and now with ease, when Dean chubs up against his stomach and his hands slide over to Dean’s shoulder blades. One lands at the back of his neck, while Cas licks a hot trail up his throat. He grips Dean’s hair, pulls him taut to expose his neck to him. An Omega whimper leaks out, when a hand teases him.

“Are you going to come for me again, my beautiful Omega? On my cock? Hmm?”

Dean stutters when Cas releases him and thrusts harder.

“Fuck, yes, I want to… Cas, I want to… feel you come, fill me up… knot me… _Mine..._ ”

Cas lets out a deep sound at the last word. He wants all of that and more, which is bleeding into his scent and out to Cas. The smile that forms against his throat is palpable, Cas’ scent dripping with deep affection, the sentiment ratcheting up Dean’s spine to burst under his sternum when their pace quickens. A low growl vibrates from Cas to him and he whines, heartfelt, as their rhythm goes erratic. He’s catching, Dean simmering his pace down to a grind, aglow at his name falling from Cas.

His hands buried in Cas’ hair, his awareness folds inward for the second time, but he doesn’t slip far. Cas nips at his lip, tugging at the flesh, until he opens up and they meld together. He scrunches his eyes shut, the red glow of Cas’ eyes still making it through. His second orgasm is sneakier and he exhales it into Cas’ mouth, riding it out on his knot until it catches and pops, hips jerking, tying them together. A warm glow fills him up from the inside, spreading out to his lower back and he clutches onto Cas.

Cas mutters his name, sandwiched between a few curses, and falls backwards, pulling him along. His eyes remain closed, while Dean studies him. His breath comes in quick puffs, heartbeat thrumming, and he waits… Waits… for the pain to hit him with a vengeance. So he wriggles around, Cas’ knot tugging at him tightly, and moans.

“Little one,” Cas murmurs on a laugh, twitching under him. “I’m not going anywhere any time soon, especially if you keep that up.”

“Hmmm,” Dean smiles, ignoring the chiding tone, his brain offering nothing but ‘again, please, sir’.

Slowly, he peels off Cas’ hands that are back at his hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. Entwining their fingers, he presses them into the mattress on either side of Cas, pressing their foreheads together. Softly, he licks and nips at Cas’ neck, then his chest, teasing one nipple with kitten licks. He rolls his hips, squeezing down on Cas who’s still hard, until he feels rather than hears another orgasm drawn out of him, soaking up every second of it. That same warmth hits like a balm while Cas gives him gentle, shallow thrusts to ride. There’s a beautiful moment where Cas’ eyes open and lock onto Dean’s. He looks beyond sated, but Dean lacks the word for it and forgoes the world of language, when he is pulled in and onto his back for kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell, between the 15x18 chaos, the election and the personal, I almost lost track that it's a Tuesday. These have been good Tuesdays, compared to some.
> 
> Uhh. Here. Have dis. It's long overdue. And they're not done yet. Hope it lives up to the buildup? They're all burning ears for praise.
> 
> Much love to you and yours during these chaotic weeks. Hope you've got time to take a breathe, recover and indulge.  
> Mal


	28. “You’re telling me jealousy smells like that?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right now, he’s acutely aware of what wasn’t said.

Dean fits into his life all too easily, but perhaps that’s no surprise as Castiel always felt like he fit into Dean’s life equally smoothly. Though ‘basking’ is likely a better word for how Dean moves through his life and house. His Omega is loving every second of this, even while still channeling some awkward shyness at times. All the same, they’ve more or less landed themselves if not on the same page yet, at least in the same book.

A comfort creature from day one, Dean loves the facilities at his disposal. He enjoys the size of the bathtub and the foamy products on offer. The warmth of a bath helps with his heat, but even so, there is a clear difference this time around. He still doesn’t dry off decently. Instead he seems to delight in Castiel drawing nonsensical patterns through the droplets on his shoulders and upper back. Well, they’re not entirely nonsensical, but Dean hasn’t figured that out yet. His focus seems to slip more easily when Castiel touches him.

Who knew that giving up self delusion would do them both favours?

It doesn’t stop there. Castiel made a nest the first night after Dean showed up on his doorstep. He made up the spare room too, just in case, and he can’t really explain that to himself or Dean, beyond his innate need to anticipate certain needs or situations. Dean’s right. They always sleep together during his heats and Dean took to the nest with adorable sounds. What that elicited in Castiel is another matter. If he thought his Alpha was mellowed out with age, seeing Dean roll around in his sheets proved how wrong he was. Dormant seems to be the more apt description and having let that particular sleeping dog lie means he’s full of energy now that there’s a reason to wake.

For all Dean’s bravery at taking the first step, theirs remains a curious dynamic. On the one hand, they’re falling into a similar step as before. Dean needs him, but he’d be amiss to pretend he doesn’t need Dean equally. The added layers of their potential and, likely the most terrifying part for both of them, the inherent risk involved with taking the leap weave through some moments more tangibly than others.

Before his heat hit, Dean unpacked his belongings. Two duffels’ worth of them. Looked shy while doing so, as if he expected Castiel to change his mind, he still persisted when he rearranged the shelves in the bathroom to fit in his stuff. Accused Cas of having an illogical pantry for the first few days while he took control of the kitchen. (“It’s my turn, Cas, and yes, I’m aware no one’s ill. There’s a lotta pie I gotta bake.”) Which was no lie and if Castiel has any regrets, all of them have to do with the amount of baked goods he’s happily shared with Dean out on his deck, sunning, or curled up on the couch while watching one of many, _many_ movies he apparently shouldn’t have lived without. It’s difficult to refuse Dean, which, given his age, he kinda hoped he’d be better at. Some rules, it seems, are immune to age or whatever passes for life experience.

And, simply put, he wants to spoil Dean.

He manages to convince Dean to go running. Once. ‘Cause his hip hurts and Dean absolutely _loathes_ it. Easily guilt-tripped, he receives grumpy, sweaty hugs, when Dean catches on to that, and they end up taking a long, hot shower that turns into a bath. Later, Sam doesn’t believe the jogging when Dean complains about it over the phone and demands picture proof. That night, Dean convinces him there are better ways to burn off calories. He concedes the point.

Curled up in his bed, though, their eyes meet differently. The confines of their arrangement falling away means they are so much more without outright saying it. He catches himself studying Dean’s face, intimately aware when Dean doesn’t look away. His smile forms smoother, when he isn’t in pain. And he may be reading too much into that, but Dean seems to suffer less.

Right now, he’s acutely aware of what wasn’t said.

Because at this very moment, one of the construction workers, as informed as they are, has taken notice of Dean. Granted, he can hardly fault the woman for it, but his Alpha would put the Queen to shame with how not amused he is. 

It’s warm outside and they’ve been providing sustenance and drinks to these people to get through the day. Well, Dean has, because he’s so visibly at home, he takes to running part of it like a duck to water and Castiel loves watching that side of him take up space.

It’s pure biology, his response, because jealousy doesn’t exactly rank high on his list of vices. No surprise that Dean would pry that particularly nasty emotion loose. He observes quietly. Morbidly curious to see how his Alpha will take it, if the woman engages in ways that might trigger a reaction. He’s too old for this, he muses with a soft sigh, when his heart contracts painfully at seeing how she and Dean hit it off.

Which is exactly the point, because _she_ decidedly isn’t too old. In fact, she looks more or less Dean’s age and she laughs heartily. Dean’s gesture to the front of the house tells him they’re talking about Baby. It all makes easy sense. He hasn’t given the age gap much thought, but isn’t blind to it either, and perhaps it’s something that should be addressed. Funny how nobody, including Castiel, ever really cares while they navigate age within a service work agreement, but it becomes an issue outside it. He knows it is his own sensitivity acting up.

He closes his eyes briefly. If it wasn’t for Dean’s confession a few days ago, this might be harder than he’s willing to admit. It’s stupid. He’s really too old for this. Humanity can be such a bitch. His legs carry him closer, bypassing the open sliding doors to the terrace, ears pricked. 

And he almost melts to a puddle when he hears ‘my Alpha’ tumbling from Dean’s lips. The rest of the sentence never registers, because it’s like the sun breaking through a deck of darkened clouds. His chest expands with a warmth that chases a bone-deep chill. A chill he’s been so accustomed to in the past decades, it took Dean to bring it back to his attention. Christ. A self deprecating laugh bubbles up, while he wipes a hand over his face. He may as well breathe out rainbows at this point.

He does notice Dean stuttering when Castiel rounds the kitchen counter. Typically, he has forgotten what he was going to pretend to be doing. So he rests his hands on the surface, _feeling_ the woman’s eyes on him. It takes him another heartbeat to realize why.

His Alpha scent is bleeding all over the place, undoubtedly wafting outside like a very opinionated fog.

He hasn’t experienced this in his lifetime. Helplessly, his gaze skitters to the pair of them. Dean’s golden eyes are obvious, even across the distance. She laughs again and makes a sweet ‘go inside already’ gesture at Dean. Castiel couldn’t agree more with her assessment, but his chest feels tight.

How will Dean respond to his little display?

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get sunstruck,” Dean says, as he slides the doors closed, shutting out the noise and heat.

He presses the round button above the light switch, which brings the sunshades down about halfway. Castiel holds perfectly still when Dean looks at him, eyes flickering in the dampened sunlight, the golden hue tugging at him with impressive force.

“You alright there, Cas?”

“I… Yes, though I may owe you an apology.”

“Did we change places somewhere along the way while I wasn’t looking?”

He refrains from answering, because he knows what Dean’s getting at.

“Uncomfortable?” Dean asks.

“A touch.”

“Then maybe we did.”

“You’re not as amusing as you think you are,” Castiel says dryly, but he’s smiling anyway.

“What? I’m adorable,” Dean grins. “Why?”

“Because this… I’m not prone to _this_ and it’s unsettling to have it come out, as much as I’m aware that it is part of our biology.”

Dean’s face settles with too much softness. “I’m pretty sure it’s human nature, Cas. You may have lost track of that somewhere.”

“Hmm,” he hums testily.

“Would you like to know what you smell like?” He smiles. “To me…”

He cocks his eyebrow, his hands tightening around the counter edge, until he senses the teasing intent in Dean. “Do I have a choice?”

Dean grimaces. “Of course. But it’s kinda obvious you got your tail in a twist, so I wanna help.”

“I’m listening.” He caves easily enough, because he does want to know. He’s been wondering how his scent registers and the warmth in Dean’s eyes suggests he’s been dying to share.

“You smell like endless summer nights, lying on a blanket under the stars. There’s a dwindling herbal campfire for when the temperature drops, but you don’t really care if it goes out, because then you get to cuddle up. And everything smells kinda like warm sunlight and hot summer nights and swimming in lakes at the same time.”

His arms give way and he folds them on the counter, letting the tension seep out of his neck and shoulders, while he gives Dean a curious once-over. 

“ _We_ get to cuddle up,” Dean says emphatically.

The silence stretches out.

“You’re telling me jealousy smells like that?” Castiel asks.

Dean lets out a sharp sound that’s part laugh, part pain, derisive in nature. “That wasn’t jealousy, Cas. Trust me, I _know_ what that smells like and it ain’t this.”

“It comes in degrees.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean says on an eyeroll. He walks over to Castiel, sidling up close enough for his body heat to register. “But you’re not blowing your top. You’re not angry. You’re not… staking a claim to prove a point.”

His hands ball into fists and his eyes track the surface under his fingers, finding the small blemishes of wear and tear. “You know…”

“Hmm?”

“It’s easy to understand why my Alpha gets livid in the face of some of the things you say,” he says, loving how visibly pleased Dean is with that. “I’ve gotten used to being in control for so long. All it takes is the right, or wrong, provocation. Like the ones who thought that the right way to treat you are ample reasons. And that sets the bar much too low, Dean.”

“My standards have been up to par. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Castiel smiles despite himself at Dean’s fond glare. “I meant before. It shouldn’t have happened and I wish…”

“If you say you wish you could have saved me…”

“You should cut me some more slack by now. I wish you didn’t have to live through it.”

Dean's eyes glow briefly at his sterner voice, a beautiful response which continues to charm him every time he elicits it. Often consciously, because he’s been greedier for it. He watches the golden glow intensify and Dean’s hip tilts, the gesture traveling up his spine until he bares his neck slightly.

“Same goes for some of the stuff you’ve been through, Cas.”

“Perhaps,” he amends. “What troubles me is when my Alpha’s instincts skate close to that problematic behaviour. She,” he adds, inclining his head towards the sliding doors, “did nothing wrong. Neither did you. And yet I felt the need to slip past and eavesdrop, driven by… that.”

“How dare you be human?” Dean huffs. He is leaning closer, scent going seductive. “And what did you hear?”

Castiel snorts softly, smiling now, because the memory is enough to brighten the moment. He lands an intense gaze on Dean, who returns the sentiment, eyes sparkling, chin jutting out. It pulls Castiel towards him.

“So you _did_ hear…”

He hums, inching in, when Dean licks his lips.

“Which set off that lovely scent of yours. Is it the damn age thing?”

“No,” he says too quickly, making Dean chuckle.

“You’re a bad liar,” Dean smiles, dipping closer. “Forget it, will ya? Not sure why your lot is okay with it in an arrangement, but gets hung up outside it. I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

“Not even when that means I’ll likely…”

“Nope,” Dean interrupts, a vulnerability moistening up his eyes even before Castiel can say ‘die’. “Nu-uh, we’re not going there. I know your age, I know mine. I wanna have this. The odds were never in my favour anyway, so I… I get...”

Castiel nods mutely, mouth dry, when Dean hesitates. “Go on.”

“We get to have this, Cas… Right…?”

He falters, voice breaking, caught on Castiel’s face as if there is something there. His heart swells with the urge to ease Dean’s fear, and his scent finishes Dean’s sentiment for him. He sniffs at Dean gently, angling into his space.

“Yes, Dean, we do.” Dean’s eyebrows do that trick again, where all he wants to do is kiss the frown away. His mind loops back to something Dean said earlier, which feels like it’ll untangle some of this. “Is there a claim to stake?”

Dean flusters, but doesn’t flinch, his eyes lighting up with more golden hope. Leaning his elbow on the counter, he cocks his head slowly so their faces are closer together. Castiel’s eyes coat the sight in red and he inhales the sweetening air.

“You smell intoxicating,” he says on the exhale.

“I know,” Dean smiles softly, with a generous hint of tease. “And you’re starting to relax.”

Dean noses at his cheek and stays there, the strength of his Omega scent thickening, and whatever small notion of stupidity he was hung up on moments ago evaporates. They lean into each other, both easing up at the physical proximity.

“You seem better, my mate,” he dares mutter to Dean’s ear.

A delightful brisk winter scent whirls around them and Dean’s eyes light up golden. 

“I am,” he says. “Your scent is already a balm, but this place… Kinda difficult to argue with that. With you.” He flicks his gaze up and back down, shy bordering on coy, but Castiel smells the hopeful vulnerability underneath, sees him mouth the words ‘my mate’. “At this rate, I may never leave. And yesterday… Well...”

Castiel lets out a pleased sound and steps fully into Dean’s space, hands resting on either side of him, snuffling at his neck. Dean wraps his arms around him. Their embrace is smooth like silk and soothing like walking into a fireplace-warm cabin during winter. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but they take the feeling to bed, despite it being the middle of the day.

He makes sure to talk to the construction crew before they leave. There’s something more he wants them to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maww, Cas sort of threw some unexpected feelings at me. How dare he? But 's all good. *pats the boys* These two... Well, you're here. You know them by now.
> 
> Having a debatable type o' morning/day (life is unstable atm). Then I realized I got to post this, which made me smile cause it lets me interact with you. So thanks for that.
> 
> Love and fresh apple pie (made some),  
> Mal


	29. “Technically, I’m nobody’s client anymore.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, noooo,” Sam groans, gesturing at Gabe fervently. “I couldn’t eat any more.”
> 
> “Are you sure? We’ve got plenty!”
> 
> “We, like you cooked any of this,” Dean teases Gabe.
> 
> “I’m good,” Sam insists, his eyes softening when Gabe bristles. “Thank you though. I don’t think I’ve been fawned over this much since I broke my arm a few years ago.”

Dean calls Sam the second he sees three missed calls. “Sammy? What’s going on?”

“Dean… I… It’s Jess. She left.”

“What do you mean, she _left_?”

“She took a TA job abroad. It came up two months ago, but she wasn’t sure yet. She…”

He grunts out a sound of understanding, suddenly remembering when Sam came over and was being all _weird_. Weirder than usual. Immediately he goes in search of Cas, meandering his way to the back of the house. “She doesn’t wanna do the long distance. That’s why you were...”

“I guess,” Sam says, his voice breaking. “She didn’t want me to wait around, not knowing how it’s gonna go. Dean…”

He finds Cas on the deck, hanging laundry, and signals at him fervently. “When did she leave?”

“She hasn’t yet. I mean, she left _me_ this morning,” he sighs. “But her flight is a week from now.”

“Okay, okayokay,” he says, nodding a few times in rapid succession. Cas steps closer, a hand at his hip, concern making his eyes droop. “I got you, Sammy.”

“Sam?” he mouths, to which Dean nods. Squeezing down on his hip, Cas inhales, nods once and whispers, “Invite him over.”

“Wanna come over?” he asks without hesitation. He noses at Cas thankfully. “I mean, we’ve got Cas’ brother and friend over for dinner. They’re special. And it’s a first for me, so I could use the Winchester back-up. If not, I’ll happily sit outside with you and we can talk. Or not. Beer and Baby. All good... Oodles of space here, man.”

Sam scoffs a sweet laugh at the Baby remark. They’ve done it often enough, usually exactly in situations like these.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” he says. “What about your heat?”

His cheeks warm with pleasure. “I told you, we’ve got a good handle on it. Worst comes to worst, you’ll have to watch me and Cas curl up again and suffer our bouquet. Under a non-stop litany of commentary.”

“The horror,” Sam says. “I think I can live with that. Don’t know what kinda company I’m gonna be though.”

“Who cares? You’re my brother.”

“Cas doesn’t mind?”

“Cas suggested it. He’s right here, hanging up a disturbing amount of orange underwear.”

He can _hear_ Sam’s face do a thing on the other side. “Wh… Why would you tell me that?”

It seems Cas agrees with that sentiment, the way he glares at Dean over the line, a clothes peg between his lips.

“Because I can and he looks all kinds of…”

“Hot?”

“I was gonna go with cute,” Dean says, smiling growing wider with the feelings he experiences, “But, sure, that too.”

Sam laughs. The exchange puts a lovely dusting of pink on Cas’ cheeks, even while he huffs dismissively at the concept of himself and cute in the same sentence.

“So what's it gonna be?”

“Yeah, okay, that… That sounds cool. Can I come over now?”

His heart wrenches. Fuck, he sounds like he did when he was young and still smaller than Dean. “Of course. You gonna be okay getting here?”

“Yes, you jerk,” Sam laughs wetly. “I’m upset, but I can still do shit.”

“Yeah, alright, bitch. See you soon.”

*

Castiel spots the response in Gabe, the second his brother gets eyes on the, frankly, _huge_ kid that stumbles his sizable self inside his house and promptly walks into Dean’s embrace, where he takes up residence for a heartwarming few minutes. He knows the Winchester brothers get along well, despite the odd ‘bitch-jerk’ thing they’ve got going, but the protective shift in Dean is instant and tangible.

Beautiful enough to make him smile and sigh, his forehead doing things he can feel but not name.

“Aww, you’re so smitten, it’s nauseating,” Gabe smirks.

“Considering your profession, you should be used to some sugar,” Bal says from the table. He’s already pouring himself a generous glass of wine and setting out cold beers.

“You two can dig up your manners and empathy,” he says. “Don’t look at me like that, Gabe, I know you possess it. Sam’s going through a tough time, which means you stop making doe eyes at him or he’ll get uncomfortable.”

“What do you mean, tough time?” His brother’s tone leaks genuine concern, while his brown eyes slip into a honeyed hue. Castiel rolls his eyes to the ceiling in mute supplication. Of all people Gabe feels anything potentially authentic for, it has to be Sam?

“I don’t know the specifics nor are we going to needle it out of him. He’s here to not be alone. If you could ease a few smiles out of him, make him feel at home, we’d be grateful.”

Gabriel’s eyes track over the kid, when he and Dean break apart. Sam’s looking a bit green around the gills, either because of his situation or the unfamiliar company he’s facing, but in a fashion similar to what he’s seen in Dean, Sam shakes it off. Suddenly he’s glad he’s got the spare room ready and stocked up on ice cream sandwiches. Something tells him both will be appreciated later.

*

“Oh, noooo,” Sam groans, gesturing at Gabe fervently. “I couldn’t eat any more.”

“Are you sure? We’ve got plenty!”

“We, like you cooked any of this,” Dean teases Gabe.

“I’m good,” Sam insists, his eyes softening when Gabe bristles. “Thank you though. I don’t think I’ve been fawned over this much since I broke my arm a few years ago.”

“Of course I fawned over you!” Dean huffs. “It’s my damn right. And I’m sorry, but did you forget it was an open fracture _and_ you had a concussion? Where are those pictures…”

Castiel slips his hand under the table, finding the curve of Dean’s warm thigh, and squeezes gently. The fussing instantly abates into a bemused, tentative glance cast his way, and a hapless smile that lights up his eyes.

“All for a good cause,” Bal says.

Castiel’s grateful for his friend. Bal tapped into some of his older energy throughout dinner, easing up on the teasing (though never the sarcasm) and letting his caring side out more. Gabriel is behaving, but very much _indeed_ fawning over Sam, even if Castiel and Bal are the only ones who seem to pick up on it. Sam’s cheeks are tinged a tipsy pink and he’s sinking into the comfort eagerly. Perhaps Castiel’s more sensitive to it, because he and Dean are the only ones not wearing blockers this time around.

He didn’t want to put Dean through that and, in all honesty, couldn’t convince himself to go without Dean’s scent for a few hours. Promising for real life obligations knocking at the door again at some point.

Dean’s face shifts to something much younger and reckless, when his phone blows up.

“Jeez, who needs you _now_?” Gabe asks.

“It’s Lee,” Dean grins. “Asking me how I’m doing. ‘Cause I ain’t his client anymore.” He keeps his eyes on his phone, while he casually adds the next bit. “Technically, I’m nobody’s client anymore.”

“Isn’t that a grand evolution?” Gabe says. “Do take care of this one, Cassie, I think I’m liking these Winchester boys.”

“Aren’t you just,” Bal says dryly.

*

They drag the evening out with a few rounds of Yahtzee (“This is all you’ve got? We gotta work on that, Cas.”), a game, which despite said comment, still riles Dean up to no end, dragging Sam and Bal along for a wired ride. It’s when they start betting childhood stories and ‘things you don’t know which could fill a warehouse’ that it all goes to shit.

He learns in quick succession:

Gabe _still_ has secrets and all of them are TMI.

Bal, unsurprisingly, barely has any, because the man has no shame, though most of that is new to the others and he still gleefully shares.

Either way, he is relieved Lucifer isn't there to add his particular brand of energy to the mix.

Sam and Dean both believed in monsters when they were younger, resulting in ‘hunts’ throughout whatever neighbourhood they lived in, freaking out the residents, and their parents having to pretend they were more pissed off than they really were.

Dean’s tattoo stems from those beliefs and serves to ward off evil. There’s a cynical remark that didn't work very well.

They lost their mom to a fire, so Dean wanted to become a fireman, until he got close to the flames again and, in a rare moment of clarity, thought better of it. He somehow still appreciates the cosiness of a campfire.

Sam first studied social work, but when dealing with the practical limitations in the real world got so fed up, he wanted to get his degree in Law.

As teenagers, Dean was, for lack of a better term, ‘the bad boy’, while Sam was ‘the smart one’. Ironically, Sam got into more fights than Dean, and it was their father who taught them how to end them. Sam conjured up a picture of the both of them from his wallet, which had a funny effect on Castiel’s heart.

Dean still has what they call ‘the Samulet’, which is the necklace Castiel has noticed dangling off one of the bed posts. A gift from tiny Sam for luck. No cynical remark anymore there.

Sam did martial arts as a kid (hence the fighting), while Dean took cheerleading for a year, which he had to hide from their father. 

There’s a remark about a girl named Rhonda and pink panties that gets lost in raucous laughter and his humming ears.

By the end of the night, Castiel isn’t a hundred percent sure which of his own stories he threw to these wolves, but he doesn’t care much. Instead, that warm, genuine, non-work-related Alpha protectiveness is taking up generous space, wrapping itself around everyone present, but both Winchesters in particular. Even Bal mellows out under its effects, though he cocks a knowing eyebrow at Castiel.

To the point where Gabe scowls at him and mouths something along the lines of ‘I can’t, but you can?’. It’s enough to make him curb it, yet he can’t stop smiling.

It’s been a while since his house has felt this _full_.

“Thank you for letting me come over,” Sam says, when they’re parting ways.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep here?”

“Nah, man. Dean’s heat is still going and he mentioned…” Sam clears his throat, suddenly _very_ pink-eared, gesturing vaguely from Castiel to Dean. At hip height. “Stuff’s… working again. With you.” 

Well, shit, there goes Castiel too, eyes widening in disbelief at the lack of restraint in his Omega. Did he text his brother as soon as they were done?

“I don’t need to hear or smell any of that. I mean, good for you and kudos to you, I guess,” he rambles.

“That’ll do,” he says tightly, glaring sideways at Dean who’s none the wiser while he says goodbye to Bal and Gabe.

Sam smiles. Soft and genuine, with a generous amount of amused sass, and there’s that tilting moment. Castiel accepts the hug he knows is incoming and returns it, squeezing down on Sam’s frame. They’re the type, these two. The back of his neck prickles and he _knows_ Gabe is getting in line for a hug too.

He may just get away with it, in the face of Sam’s kind heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those taking note of the healthy communcation these two got going, I kinda just wanna say I'm not entirely making this up. My partner and I are capable of this, and so are two of my dearest friends and I. Just gotta find the right people who map out their own bs, so they can talk about it without dodging. (We have bad days, mind you.)
> 
> HOME! Chosen family coziness! That is my end of the road, now and always. 
> 
> In the 'chosen family' vein, I've noticed a lot of feelings about the recent episodes (hard to miss, really). They sprouted some (cracky) codas on my end. Mainly cause all the feels I have about The End Of The Road were poured into a story I wrote last year, the year before the world caught fire, for DCBB. 
> 
> For those in need of a large fix-it fic with wings, chosen family and poetic justice, that's basically a love letter to Destiel, go to [Righteous Side of Hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21032192). Didn't realize until this year that it's basically one huge s14 coda. However, this was before I grew attached to Amara.
> 
> Hugs to you and yours,  
> Mal


	30. “I love it when your lips are moving, Cas, but less talking, more…”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much for mellowed out ruts.

A canvas under his hands. Far from blank, though he does feel like he gets to create. Interact, because that is what art is, yes? Observe and learn. Touch and paint. Connect and understand. Empathize. He is aware words keep anointing Dean’s skin while his fingers and lips attempt their artistic endeavour. Which words they are exactly, however, is more or less beyond him, and he can only hope they’re worthy of his mate. All things considered, they should be. Bal was right. He’s enough of a romantic to dole out poetics on the fly, especially when everything about Dean dusts off those parts of him, making them gleam with hope. Steeped in their mingling scents, completely naked, in _his - their -_ bed, Dean is sprawled against fresh sheets.

Not that he intends to keep those fresh for long.

A deep impudence hits mere seconds before Dean’s words do.

“I love it when your lips are moving, Cas, but less talking, more…” Castiel snarls against his heated skin, drawing a sharp line with his nose from his navel to the side. Teeth grazing Dean’s hipbone, he sucks down on it as soon as Dean’s tone lilts up with sudden urgency. He loves that wanton sound so much, relishes it when the groan goes borderline delirious in a heartbeat. “Auhh, ahnn, okay, yes, yesyes, that’s the spot…”

 _Indeed_.

He laves his tongue over the same spot and Dean’s hips move, lifting him off the bed as he squirms. Sniffing out the sensitive area, he nibbles his way to the side, a high-pitched whimper leaking from Dean when he leaves a mark in the hip dimple and gets to work. Open-mouthed licks with his tongue pointed, tracing the bone, to the tendon and ghosting across his groin on his way to the other side. Nips at that hip bone and gets a hand twisted into his hair for the effort. He basks in Dean’s scent and noise, indulging in the want that permeates him.

“Good God, you’re a sap,” Dean sighs between two yelps. “Even when you’re not talking…”

 _Who keeps talking_ , he wonders and laughs when Dean whines sweetly, effortlessly picking up on it.

“Caaassss,” he pleads, fingers running through his hair endlessly, until they grip tight once more. He smiles, nosing at his groin, warm breath pocketing. “God, yes, please…”

“I told you before,” he rumbles, as he licks a trail up the shaft, tongue flicking over the tip. “God has nothing to do with this.”

He takes him in one go, sucking down at the end, and works up saliva that’s soon dripping at the corners of his mouth. Dean’s voice rings in his ears, but his focus slip slides to his objective. Counting ribs with one hand, he works his way up Dean’s abdomen to tease a nipple. Plucks at the bud, Dean’s hand immediately covering his own in a mute, encouraging ‘yes!’. The other hand travels down, sliding fingers through his slick. He presses down on the bundle of nerves and muscle, Dean snarling in response. With a generous touch of urgency, two freckled hands hook behind his own thighs, pulling his legs up and wider, so his butt comes off the mattress for a few seconds before settling back down. The tempting scent of him trails up and Castiel slides fingers in at the shameless invitation. He sneaks a look through his lashes, taking in the whitened tips of Dean’s fingers pressing into the backs of his thighs, his flushed chest and slack face, lips parted around the loveliest sounds.

A few heartbeats of that is all he takes, before his eyes fall shut too, and he takes all Dean has to offer. Swallows him down deep enough until the tip nudges the back of his throat, while fingering his mate until his hand is dripping with slick and he gets to taste Dean once more. A soundless, almost breathless moment that has his chest swelling with contentment. He licks Dean clean with long, broad swipes of his tongue, until there’s a frantic giggle and legs jostling him on either side.

“Stahp…”

“Your symptoms seem to have eased up.”

“Soooo smug,” Dean hums.

“Oh, you can be sure of that,” Castiel smiles to his navel.

*

When next Castiel wakes up, his insides move like molten gold, until his brain catches up sufficiently as to the cause, and the feeling erupts like magma through his veins. Dean’s mouth around him is his ground zero. His legs fall wide, as his eyes open and fly to the ceiling, and he suddenly remembers with sharp clarity some of the specifics on Dean’s updated list. Apparently he kept the somnophilia to himself, but he instantly knows what his Omega’s angling for.

His tip bumps the roof or back of Dean’s throat and a filthy noise leaks from him, back arching, when lips greedily try to wrap around his growing knot and, _Christ,_ succeeds. No. But _yes_. Nono, he thinks, while that excessively territorial part of him is already imagining the end result if he lets Dean have his way.

“Dean, _NO_ …” His voice gets strangled by the sting of suction at his balls and a wicked trick of tongue before Dean takes him all the way, scruff burn on his thighs and fingers fondling him.

The sounds that float up to meet him are supposed to be a sentence. He can tell from the intonation humming through him. No one should be able to sound that sassy, borderline rude with their mouth so full. Yet here they are. His hips betray him and Dean whimpers deeply, clutching on to his thighs.

He can’t have Dean stuck _there_ for however long it might take for his knot to go down. Hell, it might never under those circumstances. The image flashes before his mind’s eye temptingly, merging and doubling with his reality he’s staring at greedily. With effort, he worms his hand between his groin and Dean’s face, brain fogging up when that spurs Dean on more and he resists Castiel’s hands, and, fuck, fuckfuck, his eyes squeeze shut while he tries to stave off the rollercoaster cresting that’s riding up his spine to the pleasure spots in his brain. And fails miserably as he goes over the edge, stomach soaring. When did he turn back into his teenage self?

It’s a mess.

Dean somehow whines a muffled protest, unsurprisingly chokes on _something,_ and laughs wetly in rapid succession, and all that really shouldn’t make his orgasm better, but colours are playing against his eyelids and his ears are ringing, the wet ‘pop’ of Dean’s mouth barely loosening up there. Dimly he’s relieved his knot popped outside those beautiful and _very_ talented lips, wrapped once more, tongue working the sensitive slit. He convulses under the touch, blearily searching out the view, and gets caught on Dean’s impish expression. Holding Castiel’s gaze, he lets go, semen dripping from the corner of his mouth. His face is tinged pink, a cheeky stance to his eyebrow, while he licks it up, and, hell, fuck, an interested twitch makes him jump already, while he’s barely on his way back down. A tingling at the base of his spine awakens something or other he needs a second to remember.

Dean’s pupils dilate, nostrils flaring wide, and the scent of his slick, already begging to be taken, gets even heavier. His grin splits into Cheshire territory, a deeply pleased Omega challenge whining out while those beautiful green eyes turn to bright gold. A low growl, full of promise, emanates from deep within Castiel.

So much for mellowed out ruts.

*

Cas, in or out of his rut, fucks like each time may be his last. Not in that desperate, hard kinda way, though he’s already doled that out too and, God, Dean loved it. But no, today’s the kind Dean hasn’t experienced in his life and how could he have? None of the ‘neanderthals’ that preceded Cas were his mate. He might die of this before they make it through to the other side of both his heat and Cas’ rut. So far, he’s survived the softness of those bright blues, lighting up a promising red. As if Cas is seeing him for the first time or last time. He’s survived the intensity of their feelings, blending through their scents, and the _words_ Cas keeps whispering to his skin. To the soft spot behind his ear, his hip bone or his shoulder. Dead-pan, straight to his face, if he’s feeling particularly brave. It’s all much too intense for a bond as young as theirs. And yet.

Right now though?

Right now, _thankfully_ , Cas has Dean pinned in all the best ways, holding that beautiful balance of railing and loving him. Somehow. The back of his scalp stings, his hair sufficiently long for Cas to grip it tight and hold him down. The weight of his arm across Dean’s shoulder blades, just enough of it hitting the back of his neck. The press of the mattress to his chest, as it takes the rhythmic brunt of their sweaty, moving bodies, providing much needed friction to his dick. The pressure at his hip, where Cas’ fingers dig in. The wet squelch of his slick and the slap of skin on skin. The whimpers knocked out of him with every pounding, weaving through Cas’ more demure grunts, his hot breath falling to one shoulder.

His veins are on fire, his spine loosening up with every thrust that has him rasping out heavy breaths through parted lips. The palms of his hands are flush to the headboard, which barely gives, though by the laws of physics, it probably should. The bed may be complaining, but Dean sure as fuck isn’t. Mellowed out ruts ain’t what Cas thinks they are and he relishes every hot second of it. 

He thought he forgot what it was like getting railed. Truth is he never knew what it meant and holy friggin’ Christ, with Cas like this, it barely takes anything to provoke him, when Dean asks for more. His heat is as mellow as it gets, at least when it comes to pain, because turns out those stories are true. Or they just got lucky. In any case, Dean teases the fuck out of Cas, until the Alpha has his way with him and fills him up, releasing that blessed, healing warmth. He’ll deal with Cas’ concern after. He has before. Make it up to him some more, while they establish where the lines are the best way he can think of. Intuitively. Without Cas’ incessant business-brain in the mix.

He chants Cas’ name, eyes flying open when that by now familiar, deep sound rumbles up from his mate. Cas adjusts, rucking Dean up by the hips just enough and he goes willingly, canting forward to present with a panted ‘yesyesyes’, while Cas’ arms encase him on either side. He drapes himself over Dean, as his thrusts become shallower, knot catching. Warmth, so much warmth, when Cas dips into Dean’s neck and he unfolds insofar as he can, allowing him access, his Omega scent skyrocketing into wanton territory at the mere suggestion. A soft hiccup bubbles up alongside a request. A plea, almost, a bit wet and he whines, when Cas’ hand wraps around his throat. Gentle, but firm, nails digging in just enough to lay a claim. They’re both gonna look a mess, the first time they make it near a mirror. If ever.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean moans in a thick voice. “Ngggh, Cas, breed me…”

Cas rumbles something torn at him, gravelly voice hoarse, and pinches the skin between his lips. They mould around his mating gland and the anticipation sets him off. He loses it, keening through a blissfully intense orgasm. Cas rides him through it, taking his sweet time dragging it out until he gets lost himself, tangibly, physically and in his scent, all of him washing over Dean and filling him up. The weight of him collapses on top of Dean, releasing a deep groan to the air.

“Why didn’t you bite me?” he whines the second he catches his breath and they’ve rearranged themselves so he’s encased in Cas’ arms. “You could tell…”

Cas groans into the hot pocket of his neck, back muscles rippling under his hands. “I sure as hell could.”

Dean giggles. “You’re not prone to cursing.”

Cas exhales against his skin, licking a wet trail, and kisses the bolt of his jaw, before he nuzzles at Dean’s cheek. But God, this Alpha’s a cuddler. “I refuse to mate you when I’m like this.”

“I like you like this,” Dean grins, rewarded with Cas’ face swamping his view, brow knit together in mild disapproval. His scent says otherwise, so it’s all good. “All worked up and sweaty and,” he sighs as he rolls his hips, “stuck.”

Cas lands a quick peck to his lips, shivering. “Yes, keep that up again. See how long we’re stuck this time.”

Dean laughs, jostling Cas as he drops his weight down. “But when?”

Cas’ voice floats up, low and a dense timbre to it, face hidden against Dean. “When the time’s right.” He tracks his hands up Dean’s flanks, a sudden gesture over sensitive skin, and Dean yelps. “Which will be soon enough, little one, don’t you worry.”

There’s that promise again. His heartbeat speeds up when it sinks in. Cas isn’t joking. “What? When? How? But mostly _when_?”

“Oh, God,” Cas groans.

“I thought he had nothing to do with this. _Honeyyyyy…_ ”

“Don’t make me silence you.”

Dean wiggles, biting down on his lower lip around a huge smile, weighing the pros and cons of that challenge. Instead his chest goes all warm and he thinks he’s giving off a glow at the simple prospect. Promises. Cas keeps promises. He kisses Cas’ temple, sensing another nap coming on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank Tanstaafl for a line of dialogue for this first smut scene. Delivering further on the slow burn, I hope.
> 
> Also, the timing on this is good. Some comfort smut after The End. I likely haven't seen it yet by the time I post this, because European, but I'll get to it later. My insides are doing funny things. This show got me through a really tough time and writing fanfic for it still does. End of the road. Fingers crossed.
> 
> Much love,  
> Mal


	31. “If you so much as dare to doubt me again, Dean."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tracks his gaze over Cas’ stretched out form. He’s playing with his hair, eyes going thousand yard at the tv screen. Dressed in sweats and one of Dean’s t-shirts, his legs are splayed wide, every inch of him more relaxed than Dean has ever seen him. Dean did that. He loves that he did that and grins wider when Cas’ cute frowny face lands on him.
> 
> “Bring your smug self over here,” he says, opening his arms and making grabby hands.

“I wanna…”

“We just did. Three times over,” Cas grumbles, face-planted into the pillow.

Voice singsong, Dean stretches out beside him, his eyes playful as he bestows the sweetest smile on his utterly clueless mate. “Don’t tell me your rut is mellowing out already.”

One hand shoots out to bat at him blindly. “I wish. Hasn’t been like this in my _life_.”

“Excuse me? No. I’m not done with this.”

Cas peeks at him with one eye, the rest of him largely hidden in the pillow, and squirms so he’s flush on his stomach. A flash of a smile, canines prominent, sends Dean’s stomach tumbling and their hands meet in the middle of the sweaty, wet spot they created.

“We need to eat,” Cas says. “Shower.”

“I cooked,” Dean protests. “And showered.”

“I need a shower!”

“Your tub is big enough. I’m sure we can make that work.”

Cas groans. “Shower sex is the worst.”

“It really isn’t. Not with me. I promise.”

There’s more grumbling, while Cas pushes up on his arms, muscles flexing, and fuck, he’s so beautiful, Dean loses the plot. Instead he just stares as Cas moves around on hands and knees, until he’s in Dean’s face - hair a mess, perma-squint in full force. “You’re insatiable. And your heat should have broken by now.”

“Dude,” Dean grins, “We’re in our heat and rut at the same time. Of course it’s gonna last longer. If that’s a thing. It’s a thing now. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Not this!” Cas hooks his hand behind one of Dean’s legs and tugs, sending him on his back easily. Well, he also cooperates, because he loves being manhandled. By this particular Alpha, at least. Cas has an edge on him too in terms of tricks, the sneaky bastard, and is _so strong_. He giggles, as he wraps his legs around Cas’ waist. Nothing’s gonna happen. He knows this. Cas really does need a shower and he can tell his mate is hungry, so his Omega’s getting fussy about that. Must. Feed.

With a dip in his heat, they can use the break. God forbid, do something normal (Cas’ words), but Dean’s a little too pleased about how they’re harmonizing. He hasn’t had this in his lifetime and he sure as fuck isn’t going to waste the chance.

“Can I wash your hair?”

Cas’ eyes are liquid pools of emotion as he dips in and kisses Dean, breathing him - them - in some more. “Of course,” he mumbles.

*

Dean comes to an unintended halt, when he walks from the kitchen to the living area with two plates of food. Snacks: cheese, red meats, fruits. They already had dinner. Dean ain’t the insatiable one here, at least not when it comes to food.

He tracks his gaze over Cas’ stretched out form. He’s playing with his hair, eyes going thousand yards at the tv screen. Dressed in sweats and one of Dean’s t-shirts, his legs are splayed wide, every inch of him more relaxed than Dean has ever seen him. Dean did that. He loves that he did that and grins wider when Cas’ cute frowny face lands on him, his nose having drawn his attention to Dean.

“Bring your smug self over here,” he says, opening his arms and making grabby hands.

With that destination so obvious, his feet start moving again, and he maneuvers until he’s got one plate on the pillow next to Cas, another on Cas’ lap, while Dean gets the best spot: snug between the couch pillows and slotted to Cas’ side.

“What are we watching?”

“Magic Mike,” Cas says.

“Really?!”

“I fell asleep last time we tried.”

“Is that wise though?”

“Dean, I hardly doubt anything but you is going to be a distraction right now.”

His cheeks warm up pleasantly. The praise comes too easily, lands easier still, and his Omega is thriving on it. If this is what it can mean to have a bond as equals, as two people who genuinely care, sign him up. Fully. Forever. A stupid smile forms. “Ha…”

“What?” Cas asks, as he delicately takes a cheese cube, wrapped in salami from Dean’s fingers. Lands a sneaky kiss on his knuckles, before he rumbles happily.

“I just realized. I don’t have to leave this time. Right?”

Cas’ face doesn’t even budge. Just rests there, bordering on that marble beauty he sometimes portrays. “You don’t?”

Dean gulps, staring at his mate. “Do I? What…?”

“If you so much as dare to doubt me again, Dean,” Cas says, voice going low, as his eyes light up red. “ _No_ , you do _not_ have to leave.”

"Sonova… Not funny, Cas.”

“Hmm,” Cas hums, feeding Dean in turn, and stealing a kiss. “I was hoping you wouldn’t fall for it. By all rights, you shouldn’t.”

“Bite me."

“I will,” Cas smirks. “Soon.”

Which, fine, is now all it takes for Dean to melt against Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: We now return to our regular programming.
> 
> Some softer domestics. And promises. Cas is good with those.
> 
> Hope you're safe and sound. Do something good for yourself between now and bedtime, yeah?
> 
> Love,  
> Mal


	32. “Is that your trench?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is this…?” Again he trails off, from the corner of his eye sensing Cas’ gaze on him, the subtle red right there. So he glances sideways and chuffs at the sight of his Alpha, all patient and smug, a combination he’d never thought appealing until they met. He purses his lips hard enough for his dimples to show, Cas’ face lighting up as he quirks the corner of his mouth up in a chuckle.
> 
> “Yes?” Cas asks mildly, trying so hard not to full-on grin.

He grabs for Cas, when he passes him by, and squeezes his arm. Hard. “It’s been too long!”

“Barely sixty seconds, baby,” Cas chides at his ear.

He jumps, when Cas nips at his earlobe, and turns his head to kiss him, but can tell he is already receding. “What? You’re counting just to annoy me?”

Cas chuckles, while he busies himself, doing  _ whatever  _ he’s been doing out here in the dusk. Dean suspects he enjoys this. Blindfolding Dean. Touching him every time he passes. It’s been more than sixty fucking seconds, okay? Good thing it’s one of those mellow nights. Suddenly, there is another heat he’s aware of, something he’s missed while he’s been working himself up. The scent of cherry drifts up, carried on swirls of warm smoke.

“A fire,” he says.

A simple hum to the affirmative is all he gets. They’re two days out of Cas’ rut, after which Cas promptly took another few days of time off. Dean’s situation being what it is, he’s happy residing in this limbo they’ve got going, even though his heat has passed too. An interesting urgency kicks in alongside the curiosity he’s been sitting on all day. The second they woke up this morning, he sniffed out the gleeful secrecy in Cas. His heart, brain and body immediately jumped to some kinda conclusion, ‘cause that’s just the type of man he’s become with Cas in his life. 

He’s a true mate, alright. Dean’s body takes to intimacy of any level with his Alpha like he was designed specifically for Cas. Or Cas for him. Likely both. It’s all good, but it’s also all kinds of hard to wrap his mind around, when all he can do is run around in circles in his head, because he’s got a friggin’ blindfold on!

“Easy, little one,” Cas soothes.

He sighs when lips butterfly to his and chases the feeling, rewarded with Cas’ arms around him, one hand dancing up his spine to the back of his head. The blindfold is removed while they’re kissing. He can’t resist peeking, wiggling excitedly. Besides the scent tickling his nose, a warm, orange glow is added to the experience, the contrast with night stark. Cas laughs and noses at his cheekbone, while Dean blinks until his eyes adjust. 

Like one of those toddler level ‘spot the difference’ puzzles, he instantly realizes what changed. It’s hard to miss the new fire pit, but the devil is in the details. A large plate with warm snacks, the fragrance of which filled the whole house. A large, shiny cooler with bottled and canned drinks. Towels and something that looks like one of Cas’ fancy massage oils. What this whole setup is suggesting is much harder to grasp, though he  _ knows _ . On the braining level. Somewhere.

“You…” He exhales, words failing to line up, and harrumphs at himself. Try again, Winchester. 

“Is this…?” Again he trails off, from the corner of his eye sensing Cas’ gaze on him, the subtle red right there. So he glances sideways and chuffs at the sight of his Alpha, all patient and smug, a combination he’d never thought appealing until they met. He purses his lips hard enough for his dimples to show, Cas’ face lighting up as he quirks the corner of his mouth up in a chuckle.

“Yes?” Cas asks mildly, trying so hard not to full-on grin.

“For me?” he manages, slipping a finger through one of Cas’ belt loops.

“Well, yes,” Cas hums, the ‘duh’ undertones belying his age by a decade or so.

Dean shoves him with his hip, while his heart tumbles, insides aflutter. His mind becomes nothing but serotonins the same second. “Is tonight…?”

Cas tilts his head, eyebrows doing that reassuring trick. The way he looks at him, all soft and smooth like honey, risks landing Dean flat on his ass, if Cas wasn’t just splaying his hands wide over Dean’s lower back to pull them flush together. “Yes.”

He tries to keep his eyes on Cas, while he steals kisses, not wanting to miss the intensity of his scent playing across his features. “You’ve never smelled like this before,” he mumbles, inhaling deeply. “It’s your season…”

“Sorry?” Cas mutters, pupils blown wide.

“Summer,” Dean smiles. “Everything’s more intense out here as if I’m swaddled in Cas squared.”

Cas laughs. “Hmm, two of me fussing over you…”

His brain does something funny at the notion, but that’s just because he’s... “I like one of you. As you are.”

_ Mine _ , he wills into his musk. 

Cas laughs easily, nosing at his ear. “My scent might suggest so, but winter’s always been my favorite. The stars are visible for much longer.”

“Figures,” Dean says. “For an angel.”

Cas snorts. “I think your scent has more to do with it, Dean. Which makes sense _now_ , doesn’t it?” Lips twitching in amusement, Cas rolls his eyes fondly. “Hungry?”

Dean bites his tongue so he doesn’t state the obvious ‘are you’, but Cas can sniff it out, so he still gets to see the red glow burn brighter. Definite benefits to this whole mate thing. “Yes,” he says, in as innocent a tone as he can muster.

Cas licks his lips, expression indulgent, and tugs him towards the couch, stuffed with enough pillows and blankets to land on the nest side. Those are the bedroom pillows too, Dean pegs.

“Is that your trench?”

“Yes. You seem to like it and it’s the one item I wear on the daily that doesn’t get washed as often. Which sounds a bit off, when I say it like that…”

Cas grabs them a drink, sliding the table a bit closer. Once he sits down, Dean fights the urge to plant himself in Cas’ lap and drape the trench around them. But he uses it as a blanket while he finds his spot. Cas props his leg up under him, balancing the plate with warm snacks on his thigh.

Dean rests his arm on the back of the couch, carding his fingers through Cas’ hair, as he looks around. “You went all out.”

His mouth full, Cas nods and tilts his head, as if to say ‘what else did you expect’, which is more than fair, but still something Dean wants to realize every time it happens. It’s far from a given.

“I know you hate talking,” Cas starts and he scoffs, pushing at his shoulders gently.

“I don’t  _ hate  _ talking,” he says around a warm, creamy treat. Salmon, this one. “Not with you. I dislike  _ too much _ talking. Oh, these are good...”

Filled oven pastries Cas made. Salmon, bacon, mac ‘n cheese and even tiny bolognaise ones. Dean stuffs two more in his mouth, making Cas’ mouth quiver.

“Hmm, thank you. I’m glad you like them. And sue me for having a past in which people didn’t talk enough and knowing where that got us.”

“Right.” He wiggles until they’re comfortably close and leans over Cas a smidge. “But I’m listening. Figured you’d wanna cover  _ something _ before taking the bait.”

“Cute,” Cas smiles. He offers Dean one of the bolognaise ones, which he gently nips from Cas’ fingers. Expectantly, he sits backs, chewing, giving a little sound to spur Cas on.

“Ahh,” his mate flusters. “It’s a simple question, really…”

Dean licks his lips and smiles. “Is it?”

“Well, yes.” Cas frowns at him in cute annoyance, nose scrunched up. “And you should be asking it too.”

“I  _ know  _ my answer. Do you want me to question your conviction?”

“What? No!”

“But you wanna question mine. Right?” He tilts forward, when Cas bristles, stealing a quick kiss, while he wills some of his soothing Omega tendencies to kick in.

“Hey, now,” Cas mumbles drowsily against his lips. “Unfair tactics, little one.”

Cas moves the plate back to the table and pats his thighs. Surprised, Dean cocks his head in turn, staring at those hands for a good long while, before he looks up. By which time Cas is looking curiously impatient.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” he says, as he scrambles to take his very comfy seat. “Sure this won’t  _ distract  _ you too much?”

Cas makes a noncommittal sound at him, while he helps Dean with the trench, which he refuses to leave behind. This close to Cas, their blending scents - he’s sure they’ve scent-bonded a while ago - feel and taste like a glaze over the both of them. Shiny and tasty.

“I just feel like… I’m gaining more out of this than you are?” Cas says. “To be fair, it’s also my nature, so you may need to live with this.”

“Answered your own question there, didn’t you?” Dean hums, sliding closer so their tummies are touching, toes wiggling when Cas touches his feet. “If I’ll have to live with this,” he says, gesturing at all of Cas, “You kinda already agree, ergo you don’t need to question who’s getting the most out of it. Pretty sure we’re even-keeled. And I’m fighting the urge to say it’s me so hard. Just FYI, honey.”

Cas grins. “I’m glad to hear it. Why do you make it sound so simple?”

“Because some things are. I’d not have believed it when you said it six months ago, but that was before you picked my lock.”

“You didn’t believe it then either.”

“Took me a while to figure it out, okay?”

There’s an amused apology skating through Cas’ scent, while he rubs Dean’s back. “I was no better, though I knew… early on. I  _ knew _ .”

“If you knew, then you weren’t,” Dean pouts for good measure. “We could’ve been doing this a lot sooner.”

“Here now.”

He breathes in deep, his hands over Cas’ heart. “Mmh, that’s kinda terrifying, all that… But some things are simple. And crystal-clear. You’re one of them. To me.”

Cas lets out a sound he hasn’t heard so far. An Alpha communication, conveying both territorial and ever-expanding horizon promises, which must be unique to Cas. It has to be. It’s something intense that tugs at his heart without weighing it down.

“So unless you’re having second thoughts about me,” he says, letting the last word lilt up teasingly, though his voice shakes as he does. It’s unfair, because it triggers Cas’ Alpha something fierce, as he wraps his arms around Dean. But hey, they’ve both got their hangups and he likes to be reassured.

“Never,” Cas says, voice dipping an octave lower.

“Okay,” he whispers, his vision, all his senses, filled with nothing but Cas. “Then… we’re good… Right?”

“Right,” and Cas nods, slowly, nose grazing his, as he closes what little distance was left.

Dean sighs into the kiss, relaxing in the moment. He always thought mating had to happen during a breeding. In the midst of a lot of other sensual experiences, urgent and fast, driven by instinct. Almost like losing a part of yourself, while it’s meant to be the opposite. It’s certainly what those before made him believe and tried to get him to bend to.

He was wrong. So very wrong.

Though he was present, bodily so, when he asked Cas to breed him, now he resides in both. His body and heart. Which, if you add them together, makes up a soul, and blended with Cas… Well… Sat in Cas’ lap, the trench over his shoulders, pooled around Cas’ thighs, a mellow warmth fills the empty spaces around them, like connective tissue made of molasses. The fire at his back billows around them, ever expanding to the edges of Cas’ blessedly private garden, while they’re focused on one another.

He’s nervous, but in a strangely peaceful way, when Cas nuzzles at his neck for the first time. His heart’s going fast, in sync with Cas’, though the edges of them are starting to blur pleasantly. His core is shining bright, his crisp Omega scent submerging the both of them, alongside the heat of Cas’ Alpha. There’s a lot they could be saying, but it’s being translated on another level altogether, when Dean mouths down to Cas’ neck, relishing how his mate’s breath hitches and his large hands grip him tighter. For a split second, before they ease up once more and touch him in that reverent way Cas had a knack for from the start.

Lost to touch, they embrace closely, kissing, touching, laughing softly, memories flooding them without a word exchanged. 

Every time Cas carried Dean, whether because he truly needed it or because they indulged each other’s wants without realizing.

The already distant memory of being so awkward around each other, while needing and wanting more, even in the middle of the store.

The ease with which Cas let first Dean into his life and without so much as skipping a beat, Sam too, when  _ he  _ needed it. 

How annoyingly smooth it was to meet Gabriel and Balthazar. Spend an eve in their company and find that somehow they fit. He can’t wait to meet the rest of Cas’ family, despite warnings to the contrary.

Cas’ frown every time he misses one of Dean’s references, but the reluctant curiosity that always follows in its wake.

Dancing Cas. He’s been getting more of that. ‘Nough said.

Being allowed to care for Cas in return. Being able to actually make a difference instead of always feeling like a burden.

Maybe he’s being exceptionally in love or whatever, but the stars reflect in Cas’ eyes for a few heartbeats. He smiles his gummy smile and Dean’s vision flicks golden, when he sees the canines elongated. The next moment he bows his head, dips his tongue to Dean’s clavicle and kisses a trail until he’s pressed warmly to Dean’s neck. With an Omega sound of surrender, he leans back, knowing his Alpha has him securely, and bares his neck.

The world seems blissfully quiet, though his heart is going a mile a minute, as he looks up at those stars Cas loves so much. He slows his breathing, soaking up every wisp of their moment. Lines it up with Cas’, who’s oozing all Alpha comfort, until that pitch, the betrayal of intent the second it goes from breathing in Dean to mating, and fangs pierce his skin.

His blood rushing in his ears, he’s sure he’s making some sounds that the privacy of this garden doesn't protect the neighbours from, but it’s a short-lived thought. Cas growls, the frequency vibrating through every inch of Dean’s body, and whatever pain he was expecting is swept away by their forming bond. He can feel his cells start to rearrange themselves, as Cas releases him and licks the wound. Slow and precise, there is a sting that’s dulled by his saliva, and Dean laughs up at the heavens.

A surge of energy has him planting his hands to Cas’ shoulders until he’s leaning back. Warm hands at Dean’s lower back slide to his thighs, tugging him closer. There’s a hint of blood to his lips, which Dean kisses away. For a moment, because a burning need to complete the mating courses through both of them. Not urgent, but undeniable.

He kisses along Cas’ jawline, rubbing their stubble together, marking him. When he closes his eyes, the effect of Cas’ scent, already intense, becomes tenfold stronger, now that their bond is forming. His teeth break through Cas’ skin and his essence floods his mouth. His mate arches up under him, strong arms under his shirt, bunching up the trench.

He whines sweetly against the sense of home that nestles at his core. Profoundly changed, come what may, is what they are from here on out. Gently he releases Cas, licking at the wounds with Omega focus, until Cas’ fingers card through his hair and squeeze at the back of his neck. He sits up minutely until he can see the bright blue eyes.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas smiles, sounding post-orgasmic.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean smiles.

Dean lifts his hands, a searching gesture, which Cas mirrors instantly. Their fingers lace together. Tilting forward under the sound of the rushing trench around them, Dean presses his forehead to Cas’ and they sit like that for a really long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wiggles* I was very glad to write this like this. Usually it's smut, but you've gotten a few by now. (And they can be tiring to write, I swear.) So this happened and I pleased.
> 
> Also, the next chapter is the last one, darlings. Strange to let these boys go.
> 
> I'ma plug a few of my other stories here, for those in need of something else to read (not like AO3 isn't full of stories, but I always feel weird when something ends):
> 
> This is another A/B/O one, I'm currently working on, called [Under Your Scars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735521). Arranged marriage with two person love triangle, dreamwalking and domestics. Also an owl and some angst. You can tag along for weekly updates again!
> 
> A yoga teacher!Cas and surgeon!Dean [Valentine's fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21873877). Misunderstandings, comfort and soft Dom/sub. And a sauna.
> 
> A [quarantine fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23199145) with protective Dean, taking care of Cas. Lots of domestics, fluff, with a generous sprinkling of shibari and Dom/sub.
> 
> Something more wild and festive [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755060). Dean and Cas in kilts and tanks, performing (martial arts and dancing) at a festival. One night stand. Finding home.
> 
> [My Omegaverse fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249898). More angsty, big ass fantasy world. Slow burn. True mates. Kid fic.
> 
> I hope you're looking at a good weekend and you and your loved ones are safe. And happy.  
> HUGS,  
> Mal


	33. “What’s not to want?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel smiles a gummy smile, shrugging and pulling Dean to him, but he resists and huffs in annoyance. Dude picks up on every little detail in Dean’s scent, Dean thinks, except that.

“It’s so colourful.”

He glances around the sweets shop. The blinds are still drawn, its retro welcoming sign on ‘closed’, because it’s a Sunday. A delivery is being made, which is the perfect excuse for Dean to see how that works and get a feel for the place.

“But such nepotism,” he grumbles.

Cas rolls his eyes, hooking his index fingers behind his belt loops. “It is as temporary or permanent as you want it to be, baby. Jody's been angling for a live-in person for her kids.”

He wiggles, a reluctant smile forming at the sight of those hands resting against his hips. The intimacy of what they’ve done for him in many ways hits and tugs at his heart strings. 

“Uh-huh, not happening, though I look forward to meeting them. No, it's just... It’s starting to feel like, I dunno, I’m getting all these benefits from being with you. Like some friggin’ sugar daddy.”

Cas chokes on his own tongue, looking sufficiently uncomfortable, then recovers when he notices Dean’s bratty smile. “ _You_ paid _me_ for my services, if I recall correctly.” 

“So I did,” Dean says, “But…”

“And you’re now going to be earning your own money, which isn’t coming out of my pocket. Right alongside your copywriter work and whatever else you’re comfortable with.”

“It’s coming from mine,” Gabe yells from the back. “And don’t you forget it!”

“Not helpful in this moment, Gabe!” Cas snarls.

Dean chuffs. “You’re so hot like that.”

Cas blinks a few times, not nearly as aware of his own impact as he should be. Or perhaps it’s for the best, Dean thinks, that subtle kind of confidence Cas has going for him, when he catches on and something darker slips into his body language. Dean is taller than him and yet somehow when Cas lets his Alpha out to play, he all too easily pulls this stunt, where he towers over Dean gloriously.

Dean slides two fingers into the gaps between three buttons and tugs at Cas. The kiss is slow, but as electrifying as the first time he did this. Lets out a deep sound, while his lips part to invite Cas in. Another, dirtier one is ripped from him, when Cas smoothly dips Dean’s head back and takes the invitation for all it’s worth. He knees Dean’s legs apart, crowding him shamelessly.

“Hey! HEY! I know that sound. Enough. You’ll make my pining heart shatter.”

Head dizzy, Dean still manages to bat his lashes at Gabe over his shoulder. The smaller man grimaces, leaning through the divider hatch. “That cute shit doesn’t work on me, Dean-o.”

“Maybe not from me,” Dean grins, “But if you want help with my brother, you’d better play nice.”

“Mmh-bl-wha…?”

Cas laughs deliriously and would have folded like a cheap suit, if it wasn’t for how in each other’s personal space they are. “Do that again!”

“Hmm?” Dean smiles, mesmerized.

“You made him go speechless. Please do that again.”

Dean glances back at Gabe, who’s trying to find back his dignity, and he takes some pity on the guy. “I think it’s still in effect.”

He even sounds put out, when he finds his vocal cords back. “How did you know?”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean scrunches up his face, teeth bared. “You couldn’t have been more obvious.”

“Okay,” Gabe says, the word stretched out expectantly. “What’s your help gonna cost me?”

“Time for Sam’s sake,” Dean says. “You give me and Cas leeway from your endless commentary. This ain’t Discovery Channel. Other than that, nothing, man.”

“Alright,” Gabe nods, regaining his smooth composure. “Make with the intel. Where do I start?”

Dean points at one of the boxes of sweets behind Gabe, who follows the trajectory.

“Rainbow ribbons? You want some?”

“Nah, but Sam loves them. Ate them by the box when we were younger. Kid’s on his way to become a lawyer, but wouldn’t call him excessively ethical. He loves jogging, healthy food -” Gabriel groans, which makes Dean laugh. “Uh-huh, yeah, good luck with that. Big heart. Wants a dog. And, uhh, he may actually have a size kink. I trust you’ll know how to play coy.”

Gabriel actually crows at that last bit, grinning wide, while he pulls the wrapping off a fresh lollipop. His grin’s all too Cheshire, while he slides the hatch shut again, winking.

“And you said I don’t hold back,” Cas says.

“Sammy’s easy to like and he can use a friend, if nothing else.” Dean snorts gently and shrugs, popping one of the gummi bears in his mouth. “These are going to be hard to resist.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I wasn’t kidding.”

“Hmm?” Cas hums, eyes tracking back to Dean’s lips as if he wants to pick up where Gabe interrupted them. 

Dean forces himself to focus. “I wouldn’t have this job or feel the way I’m feeling, if it wasn’t for you.”

A proud smile tugs at Cas’ lips. “It’s what _Brush_ does.” 

“Oh, really? You mate all your clients? Find jobs for all of them? Cause I’m not sure I like that.”

“I’m retired, remember?” Cas grins cheekily, nipping at his jawline.

“Uh-huh,” Dean says, distracted. In for a dime, in for a dollar, he guesses. “I’ll gain so much weight.”

“I like your weight. Whichever weight you’ll be on. Whenever.”

Dean rolls his eyes mildly. “I… Uhh, don’t be so sure.”

Castiel smiles a gummy smile, shrugging and pulling Dean to him, but he resists and huffs in annoyance. Dude picks up on _every_ little detail in Dean’s scent, Dean thinks, _except_ that.

“What?”

He gives Cas a dead-pan look, hopefully masking his insecurities. “I might develop cravings in the very near future. That or horrid nausea. Not sure when either is supposed to kick in really… Hopefully not at the same time.”

Cas’ eyes go comically wide, until lights dance in them, his whole body taking a slow journey of realization, and he drops to his knees, pressing his lips, then his cheek to Dean’s abdomen. Warm fingers slip under his shirt to rest there.

“A pup… You’re giving me a pup?”

Heart almost beating out of his chest, Dean smiles, riding a terrifying high at his mate’s response. “Yeah, Cas, apparently I am…”

Cas is staring at him intently across the planes of his chest. “Are you okay with that? I know you thought… I mean, do you want…?”

Dean stares at him in turn and cards a hand through Cas’ hair slowly, rubbing silver strands between his fingers, unsure he’s hearing that right. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is the first thing you worry about?”

“Well, yes. Always, baby. You come first, Dean. Always.”

They share a stupid smile at the somewhat immature joke, but goes to show where their minds are at. Dean’s voice shakes a bit while he breathes out the words.

“Fuck, honey, I thought I was gonna be alone my whole life, going through crappy heats, no mate, no pups… then you pick my lock and swoop in, wearing that trench and half a year later, I’m mated, not in any pain, getting railed during my heats, now _pupped_ -” He relishes the flash of covetous joy that kindles. “- and happy.” 

And the gooey, homey feeling that begets. God, Cas is a sap. All his.

“What’s not to want?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are...
> 
> That's it for these two and their extended family. This story, even though it's filtered through an A/B/O lens, hits close to home in some kinda ways, but has the happy ending. Because that's how stories work and how life sometimes goes. For those who were along for the live posting ride, I am ever grateful you were there every step of the (slow, so slow, I'm so not sorry) way. Your comments made me smile through a difficult time and I can't thank you enough. Not to mention that it also took us through that 5th of November and everything that followed in its highly vibrating frequency wake. Remember, remember the 5th of November will never be the same.
> 
> But I will thank you one last time anyway. Thank you for joining them and me on this particular comfort ride, taking time out of your days to read and interact. It was beautiful to see your names pop up in my inbox and I wasn't kidding about that cabin. Last roll call!
> 
> Be good to yourself in the time ahead.  
> As always, much love,  
> Mal


End file.
